


An Anthology of Stories.

by arnope



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, F/M, Freeform, Gen, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Pre-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnope/pseuds/arnope
Summary: Multiple vignettes, short stories, and character studies set within the Hades (game) universe with additional Greek mythology elements. No set story, not chronological, all freeform.[edit: added a table of contents with information to make it easier to pick and choose which story you'd like to read.]
Relationships: Achilles & Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Aphrodite/Ares (Hades Video Game), Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Cadmus/Harmonia (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 87





	1. Table of Contents.

**Story One:**  
Ares Returns to the Underworld (G)  
No content warnings. No relationship.  
Characters: Ares (POV), Hades, Zagreus  
A vignette posed as a study of the atmosphere within the House of Hades to someone who is perceived as an outsider.

**Story Two:**  
Hector of the Shining Helm (G)  
No content warnings. No relationship.  
Characters: Zagreus (POV), Hector, Charon  
A character study of the Trojan hero, Prince Hector, and his time within the Underworld after what had happened to him, and to his home, at the insistence of the gods themselves.

**Story Three:**  
A Study in Four Parts of War and Death (M)  
Content Warnings: mentions of gore and brief, non-explicit intimacy. Ares/Thanatos  
Characters: Ares (POV), Thanatos, Hades, Minor War Gods, Thero  
A one-shot to study the relationship between Ares, the god of war, and Thanatos, the god of death, as one is not without the other.

**Story Four:**  
Of the Blood (G)  
Content Warnings: blood. No relationship.  
Characters: Zagreus (POV), Achilles, Hades  
A study on the very meaning of blood and what it could represent, be it the literal substance, or the figurative familial sense in regard to Zagreus as a child.

**Story Five:**  
Cadmus, Founder King of Thebes (T)  
Requested Story. No content warnings. Ares/Aphrodite, Harmonia/Cadmus  
Characters: Ares (POV), Harmonia, Aphrodite, Athena, Cadmus, Kydoimos, Deimos, Phobos, the Erotes  
A one-shot to study the beginning of the myth of Cadmus and what it represents in terms of familial devotion and the love (and relationships) the gods often have with mortals.

**Story Six:**  
Another Clause in the Contract (T)  
Content Warnings: violence, blood, minor spoilers for the epilogue. No relationship.  
Characters: Zagreus (POV), Hades, Ares, Persephone, Hypnos  
After a few hundred times, things start to get routine and Hades does not like that his son has gotten too comfortable, so he added another surprise to Zagreus' escape attempts.


	2. Ares Returns to the Underworld.

Silence was often begot within the dreary halls of the House of Hades. Shades gave no sounds of foot falls, merely the faint breeze of them passing by, pacing as it were, to wait for where they would go next in their journey through the afterlife. Barely were they felt at all if one were never to look around—blind to the downcast, fearing a trip to Tartarus for some misdeed they had done; deaf to the moaning, mourning the loved ones they now miss in life. But Ares often did look though. The dead had earned his respect even if they were ones who did not fight while alive. Dying was courageous in and of itself, he needed to acknowledge that being who he was as a god.

Yet, despite all of that, many were afraid of him still as his heavy, pronounced steps sounded throughout the ornate hallway leading straight up to the Lord’s great, black desk. Shades scattered, fleeing the area the best they could, while others were fine enough by just scurrying out of his path. It mattered naught to him as he brushed the skirt of his short chiton off with his free hand, while the other twisted a blood tinted sword, idly and expertly. Charon’s boat was always rather dusty in his experience, but he supposed it was only to be when physical passengers were rare for the famed boatman to take down the various rivers that flowed throughout the vast Underworld.

Cerberus, the giant, three-headed red guard dog, lazed about on a rather plush bed next to its master’s desk. A new addition to the halls, he was certain of it for he knew his Lord Uncle not to be fond of such coddling (a trait borne to many of the elder gods birthed from the Titans). Especially the teddy bear, ripped and on its last leg that lay dead beside the great beast. A charming picture, were it not for one of the heads having perked up, watching him intently with heckles raised. Ares grinned, giving a little click of his tongue on the back of his teeth as his sword disappeared. His own Hounds of War were nothing compared to Cerberus; a faint prick of envy dug into the back of his head, soon to vanish as his eyes came upon the Lord of the House himself.

He stopped short before the desk that loomed over the hallway. Grand as it were, Hades was still able to be spotted behind it with the same wary, gruff look about him that was always a constant when Ares visited. The deathly parlor of his cheeks framed by jet black hair of his beard, he looked akin to his brother Zeus in the aspect of if he were the negative of the other. Were one was tanned, bright, and always with a lively glint in his eyes, the other was just about the opposite in every single way. Though, Ares had to admit, he found the one before him to be far more agreeable than his own father. Something no one was surprised about, he was sure.

“I see you have come without any prior notice,” Hades’ voice boomed out among the halls, echoing and shattering the dead silence. There was a stillness to this acknowledgement from the Lord of the Dead. Perhaps more so than usual, but who was to say? Ares had not stepped into these halls for nigh on a century now. “Please tell me you have not _wooed_ one of my Furies yet again.”

Ares laughed, crisp and alive. The memory of his dear Telphousia and the drakon she gave to him for their coupling. The very city-state of Thebes would not have existed or have been so fierce were it not for such a romance where even Aphrodite was too apprehensive to condemn. And who would? Such a beautiful child he had created with the Fury. An act he would do again if ever accepted into her bed for a second time. “No no,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “Though, you would be a great uncle once again! Think of all manner of beasts you’d see upon the fertile plains of Greece, bringing more shades to your hallowed halls.”

“I believe you do enough with your retinue of war gods, Nephew. You need not add more to my already ever-growing list.” A heavy sigh sounded, wrought with centuries of experience built upon each other. “Especially with your recent exploits.”

“Well, I must do as I am made. As we _all_ must do,” Ares commented, flippant. “At any rate, I am not here for romantic pursuits. My brother Hermes gave me a request from a couple of my daughters to visit them. Thought I’d do so, and perhaps some of the others who are down here…free.” Others, like his dear boy Kyknos, were locked away from any contact. A fate designed for him the moment he put his desires to build a temple out of human bones. Creative, but ultimately damning.

Hades stared at him for a moment before it registered in his head. He glanced down at the number of parchment pages on his desk before he plucked out the right one he needed. “Yes, I remember this one. A request was put in fifty years ago. Some of the Amazons, and your bride. So, it will be romantic in some way then?”

Ares quirked a silver brow before another laugh burst forth from his lips. “Otrere is but a shade now. You think me so crude, dear Uncle. I go mainly for my children, you know this. Now, is that all right with you, or must I steal away into Elysium again? I do not like disrespecting you, so I desire your recognition for this. Hence me coming into your house as so.” Arms outstretched, gesturing to what was already known. When he did so, he managed another look around and spotted more shades and some curious faces that had drawn his eyes to a steadier gaze.

Black, messy hair, a face resembling that of his Lord Uncle but with a more impish quality to his eyes, it could only be his hell-born Cousin, his kin, Zagreus. Unexpected, as he thought he would see the boy out within the depths of the Underworld, trying to break out. Not inside, standing with others beside him and openly watching the scene before them. Ares wondered then, were his suspicions about the fighting he felt upon the surface appropriate? With a grin and a wink to the younger god, he looked back at his Uncle whose own frown deepened upon noticing that subtle exchange between the two.

“I find it laughable that you do not wish to disrespect me given your recent actions in regard to my son,” Hades then remarked as Ares lowered his arms back to his sides. “But I had already accepted the request, so yes, go.”

“My thanks, Uncle.” His sword appeared back into his hand, allowing him to twist it idly before he stepped away from the desk. To his right would be the entrance, and the start of his walk, and so he aimed himself for that. Though, a thought ran across his mind, daring him to speak it aloud. A thought that would have made his dear sister, Eris, proud. “Oh, and do pass on my greetings to Lady Persephone, yes?”

“What?” Hades boomed louder, hands slamming down upon the desk to the point of the objects upon it quaking in the aftershocks. The hall, somehow, did not breathe. Ares had to stop, almost to the threshold of the neighboring hallway where he saw the glorious Nyx eye him in curiosity (he almost pulled away from the conversation just to partake in one with her, of all goddesses he had wished to be acquainted with). “And why would you think she is here now?”

“Has she not always been here?” Ares asked with a faint tilt of his head. “Or do you really think me as hardheaded as my dear Aunt to not believe the rumors of where she went and what became of her thus? Come now, I almost married Persephone myself, do you not remember? Not only that, but I also know that if one wishes to get away from the eyes upon the surface, all you had to do was go down below in any way that you could.” He said no further than that, even when he could have regarding others specifically within the room. His eyes flashed back to the young godling, still staring at him, but now with a more open face full of shock inside of those mismatched eyes of his.

Ares was no stranger to love and what becomes of it either. His own consort, his own children, were the very bringers of many godly unions and what was gifted between said unions whether any cared to recognize them or not. Just because some of the other gods cared naught what their lovers and children do on a daily, does not mean he was the same.

“You… You knew my m—Persephone?” Zagreus asked despite the low warning from his father, a rumbling of displeasure. “Please, tell me… What happened, Lord Ares?”

“Family history is a long and complicated thing, my kin, often twisted in strings of fate where it then turns into a rather jumbled mess, becoming increasingly hard to follow,” Ares stated. “If I were to regale you of all that you wish to know, I would never see my children. But, perhaps another time, if your Lord Father permits it.”

“You never do make up your mind on which rule to follow, why must I think you will for this one?” Hades asked, exhausted already as he took his seat again. Hands gathering a stack of parchment and his quill pen to resume the work had neglected.

“I am two sides of a coin, Uncle,” Ares said in excuse, but the grin attached to it said he had no qualms about what just happened. “I flip whensoever I please, as I must do as I was made. Like I said.”

Hades grumbled under his breath, large hand waving him off in dismissal, and Ares did so. This time, no extra comment graced the stale air again. Swift-footed as ever, he trekked fast through the garden out into the pits of Tartarus, and through the flame-ridden swamp of Asphodel, until he finally managed to find his way into the lush, verdant fields of Elysium full of the best warriors that Greece had to offer. The very scions and henchmen of his own designs upon the battlefield. This was more home than Olympus cared to be at times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i know telphousia is another name for demeter in some myths, but given the game's own story, it'd seem odd. so i'm keeping her to being the ambiguous fury that she also is depending on who is writing the story of cadmus.)
> 
> ares will most likely show up more than expected bc i absolutely love him and i was so happy that he, for once, got one (1) good interpretation in modern media in the form of this game. finally some good fuckin food 💪😤


	3. Hector of the shining helm.

The relieved sigh that was let out upon the appearance of Charon’s shop had Zagreus’ hard-worked body slumping once the tension was released. Tartarus had become a breeze to run through. On this particular jaunt, Tisiphone still had not mastered his name, but she was getting there, and he was rather excited for the progress. Especially where it could put them, to which he hoped it was leaning more towards the “Hey, let’s not kill each other and you can just let me pass” type of relationship. Asphodel was always a hit or miss when it came to his journeys. Lernie had a new head that tried to kill him faster than the others, so that was all rather exciting. Then came Elysium and its warriors who made it their death’s mission to kill him over and over again.

None succeeded…this time. Hypnos’ cheery attitude about which type of warrior had killed him would not be missed as Zagreus had made it all the way to the end, welcoming the sight of the boatman’s shop filled with wares that would help him further on his way. At first the shop was an odd occurrence that often brought about curious questions to the young god’s lips, only to be given moaned non-answers from Charon himself. Though, it was not as if he would forsake the help and the brief reprieve that was given to him among the many twisting, changing chambers that made up the confusing map of the Underworld itself.

Yet the shop within Elysium, just outside the stadium, was perhaps one of Zagreus’ favorite to stop in. The soft, lush grass, green and given its much needed sustenance from the very River of Lethe itself, was quite the comfort to have upon his bare, flame-ridden feet. Albeit he singed it away with each step he took, it still grew back stronger like many of those who called this part of the Underworld their home. Even the sky itself, if one wanted to call it as such, was a marvelous thing even if hazy from the mists of forgetfulness that the river churns up in its wake.

Zagreus always wondered about how everything worked since he had started these breakout attempts of his. Where did the light that illuminated the sky come from? Helios’ chariot never appeared across this particular sky like it does every time he stepped upon the surface, within Greece where the brilliant rays hurt his eyes to the point of making them water. Yet, the plants still grew as if there was that life-giving source—and perhaps there was one after all. A dead sun, sent to the bowels of the Underworld and given the name of greatness just so it could be propped up in Elysium to give its warriors the shine they were meant to have. Everything was plentiful. A heaping supply for the greatest of men and women that once walked the plains of Greece in their life. Such a thing, no matter how many times he entered Elysium, would never lessen the awe he felt for it.

Which may or may not include the very next person he was to fight. Oh, Asterius was included, of course…Theseus was another matter entirely. The sounds of loud, boisterous cheering could be heard just beyond Charon’s shop, undoubtedly responding to whatever their king and champion was doing to ramp up their excitement as they waited for the next challenger to approach. Which, Zagreus had to admit, Theseus had quite the knack for even if the whole act made Zagreus want to bash his own head against the wall. Asterius made it all bearable. Well, as bearable as a bullman…man bull (human bull? The very symbolic punishment of an innocent life due to someone’s hubris in the face of the gods?) could be at this rate in comparison.

However, within this shop that had been so constant in its sameness which Zagreus came to expect, not all was as it should be. Nearing closer to the selection of boons, pomegranates, and even a bit of food to allow Zagreus that extra push to keep him alive for longer, he noticed that the skeletal visaged shopkeeper was not alone. In front of him was a shade, holding out his hand to which the ghostly Charon reached out from his grip around his wooden oar and deposited something small upon the contrasting tanned palm. It was an odd sort of scene to behold. Zagreus was not aware that Charon interacted with the shades more than taking them to their designated spot within the Underworld.

_Well, the more the merrier!_ “Hello there,” Zagreus piped up, causing both Charon and the shade to look at him with muted expressions. The latter of the two scooted back with a slight bow of his head, brown curls that framed his face pushed forward in the act, while the rest stayed behind in a loose braid at the nape of his neck. A faint scruff of a beard decorated his cheeks and chin, marking him as one would call handsome despite the wary look in his dark, youthful eyes. The shade’s peplos though was brighter with a coloring of rich, royal blue and turquoise gemstones around his neck and wrists. Even his himation, adorned with a curling pattern that reminded Zagreus of churning waters, was held up on his right shoulder with an ornate bronze clasp. The picture granted to him was one of regal standing, but how the shade held himself spoke of a warrior. It was as if he was the comfortable middle between the loud-mouthed Theseus and the stalwart Achilles, if there were any scale to go by for the young god to compare these shades to.

“Got yourself a friend, I see, Charon mate,” Zagreus continued with the same breathless smile, to which he turned to the shade in particular who had not said anything to the groaned response of the boatman. Instead, the shade clutched the object in his fist as he held it close to his heart. Did he think Zagreus was here to take it away from him? “Zagreus, a pleasure. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Though, between you and me, sir, I’m glad you’re a part of the small group of calmer shades that don’t try to kill me.”

The shade smiled then with a quiet laugh that loosened up his stance, albeit a bit. “I have no love of fighting, so the idea of spending my days here doing just that, does not appeal to me,” he explained, hand lowering somewhat if only to be clasp at his side. “I am Hector, Your Highness. No one of considerable note, I assure you, so perhaps with your fights through the Underworld, it is good we have not met upon the battlefield.”

“Oh, you think you can take me then?” Zagreus challenged, but said in enough good humor that the shade was not put off by it. Smiles remained; relaxed postures did not tense back up. It was something that Zagreus liked to see and the familiarity between this Hector and Achilles made its way closer to each other. A good thing. Zagreus did not want to meet another Theseus if he could help it. One was quite enough.

“I have died once. I do not wish to go through that again,” came Hector’s amused retort. “The lines are far too long for my simple tastes.”

At that, Zagreus laughed. “To Hypnos’ credit, he is getting better at his job. Took a couple yelling matches between him and his brother…but, the ends justify the means, yes?”

“That is one way to look at it…”

“So, you’ve been here long?” Zagreus then asked. “Seems you made use of this place, having Charon do things for you that is.” He gave a little gestured to the boatman who merely groaned quietly upon this inclusion. Or perhaps it was impatience for Zagreus to choose what he wanted so that he could continue on with his duties. “Do you mind me asking how you got here? Not sure what the social etiquette is when it comes to wanting to know how mortals died… A touchy subject for some, I’d think.”

“It was not always as such. I found a bit of coin and I tried my luck,” Hector began to explain in regard to Charon before moving on. “I suppose I have been here for a while to have it work. Not exactly sure how long it has been—but like many of us here, it was a war that claimed me. Killed while protecting who and what I cherished while alive. A futile attempt, but such was my lot in life as designed by the Fates themselves.”

“Ah, I doubt it was so futile. You probably helped a lot while you were alive,” Zagreus said, attempting cheer the shade up. Patroclus, too, held the same despondent air about him, but that all seemed due to his separation from Achilles. This one seemed more on how he died than anything. If Zagreus could assume as much this early. “Celebrated as one of the greatest heroes your city has ever had! Protector, even. Right?”

That despondency grew as Zagreus continued to the point where Hector was no longer smiling and the hand clasping the object was now back up against his chest. Knuckles growing white with the pressure. A sigh then released itself from parted lips and that alone took the wind out of Zagreus’ excited sails. Even Charon groaned, wistful in sound. He had said something wrong here. Overstepped some sort of invisible line and made the shade, once forthcoming, retreat back into himself. That was not the reaction Zagreus thought he would get…not one bit.

“A fine delusion, but not the truth, no,” Hector began. “What the Fates have in store for you, it always comes to pass no matter how hard you try to deny it out of fear. Even the gods made sure it was kept; the very destiny of my city was to be scaled and destroyed to the point where nothing was left of it in the years proceeding. But I fought as if there was a way to change the Fates’ mind—give hope when there was none to give. Looking back on it now, I do wonder about some of the actions I have done, knowing as I did. Mortal pride, I suspect. Keeps many of us going no matter what. Reason why, perhaps, the gods humble us so harshly should we step out of line.”

It was bleak. Zagreus’ shoulders slumped once more, but for an entirely different reason as he listened to the shade. “So…you know what happened to your city after then? What of those within? Surely some got out all right.” There had to be a positive to this. There just had to be even if Zagreus had to pull teeth in order to find it. Charon remained silent though as even he, too, turned to look at Hector speak of what had happened. A certain respect for those who populated the Underworld was ingrained in those in charge.

“When I was young, there was a prophecy that one of my brothers would bring ruin. That should he remain alive, all of Ilion would suffer—my parents, unable to kill their own child, could do nothing and thought to send him off. Thinking, perhaps, that nature would claim him, but of course that did not happen. A war came years later and stayed for nigh on a decade, or so I’m told. My life was the only reason why the walls had never been breached. Once I died…” The shade shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said to himself under his breath before he continued for Zagreus. “To answer your question, I do know… I know enough, that is. Some of my family and friends have been granted access to Elysium, and they told me what they could. The rest…I hardly see a reason for me to seek such information out when I was given all that mattered to me.”

Imagine getting a prophecy like that…Zagreus wondered how mortals dealt with such divinations coming to them. How could they cope? How could they keep on living if they knew it was only going to end up with them dead no matter? Well…dead sooner than they had imagined. Still, Zagreus frowned and chewed on his bottom lip before pointing to the still-clutched hand that was at Hector’s chest. “Is that from your family then?” He had to guess. He wanted to ask if it was from a lover or someone akin to that since the shade was treating it so carefully.

“From my wife…in Asphodel,” Hector answered in a quiet voice, holding out his palm with some hesitation to the act. Upon it was a small dark blue jewel with a bit of rolled parchment attached to the backside of it. “It is a sign to say that she is all right given the recent flooding. I had given it to her as a gift on our wedding day, now it is used as a way to pass messages to each other. Lord Charon helps when able and with the right amount of coin of course.” Curling his fingers back over the emerald, Hector’s hand retracted. “We all do what we must to be with the ones we love, despite the circumstances that separate us.”

“Boy do I know it,” Zagreus murmured. Eurydice, Orpheus, even Achilles and Patroclus. Lovers who were split in death and now, he was trying to find a way to bring them back together no matter how his father would look upon his attempts. Zagreus’ heart ached for them just as it ached for Hector’s plight in this moment. Raising a hand, he swiped fingers through his hair as he exhaled in contemplation. He wanted to help this shade—compelled to, even, but the words of Thanatos chiding him for pushing himself into people’s business made him hesitate.

For only a second…

“What if I find a way to reunite you with your wife? How does that sound?” Zagreus then asked, hands outstretched towards the other and a smile back on his face. It worked well for Eurydice and Orpheus, why not for Hector and his wife as well? He could almost feel the very roll of Than’s eyes for this, but he did not quite care at the moment.

“No,” Hector was quick to say. Voice harsh, rough with emotion that slapped Zagreus’ smile off. Then, Hector faltered, as if he regretted what he had just said. Thus, when he spoke again, his voice was softer and more restrained. “No, thank you, Your Highness. I love her and I wish to see her again, I cannot deny that. But…I cannot, on good conscious, make a deal with you. One moment of happiness is not worth an eternity of suffering. My wife has been through enough pain in her life that now she finally holds peace in death, I will not take that away from her because of my selfishness. Do you understand?”

Confusion was evident as Zagreus reeled back. He had not expected such a reaction from this shade. “What do you mean? I don’t want anything from you, sir. This is just me trying to help you—”

“And then what, I ask of you? It is never _just_ that with your kind. There is always a hidden condition—an unknown clause to a contract mortals are never aware that they have signed in the first place.” Voice was barely a hiss, fist shaking as the reserved anger and insult came out from the shade. Zagreus felt like he was missing some important knowledge when it came to Hector’s story. Some reason why he did not seem to hold a trust in the gods. “Forgive me, but I do not wish to speak on this any longer. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait! No no, don’t go,” Zagreus was quick to placate, arms outstretched to beg for Hector to remain where he was. A shade that did not immediate go for his throat was someone he wished to keep around for longer than just one conversation. _So, this was what Thanatos was talking about…_ “I’m sorry. I got a bit too ahead of myself. Uh, here…” he produced a bottle of nectar from his stash and held it out to Hector. “For you. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot—not every day I meet with a shade willing to talk. You’re about the second one in here to do that, so please…”

Hector looked down at the bottle, confused enough to make his brown eyes narrow and brows furrow. He did not say anything, mouth working as if he was thinking of something to say—of how to say anything to a god giving him a gift. Zagreus did not let him ponder it for too long as he did the one trick he often used on others who also did not readily take his gifts. He then pushed the bottle closer until it hit the other’s chest and let go. Hector was quick to catch it before it hit the floor, the tall tale clink of the sapphire hitting against the glass as it landed on his palms safely.

“I can’t take this, Your Highness,” Hector said in a small voice. Hands held the bottle as if it would come alive and start attacking him.

“I don’t know when next I’ll see you around here, so please,” Zagreus said, pulling back his hands and leaning away just in case Hector tried to rid himself of the bottle. But that was not what happened even if the shade did not look like he wanted it. “It’s a gift, sir.”

“There are no gifts from gods…” Came a measured response, pondering almost. But at least his hands lowered and carried the bottle with a bit more familiarity. If only to juggle it with the sapphire so that it left a hand free to dip into the front of his peplos, within the folds at his chest, where he produced a small, wooden creature from them. Hector then held it out for Zagreus to take and the young god did with some perplexity. “In exchange then. Also, for mine own apologies…as I have acted out of sorts and beneath myself towards you.”

Zagreus held up the object, carefully as it felt so delicate within his clumsy fingers. The carving was well done, but he had no idea what it was of, really. He tried to search for the name in his mind, but all he received was a blank sheet of parchment. Four legs, a long face…could be anything. It was safe to say that these kinds of creatures were not common within the Underworld. Thanatos could know, he goes to the surface more than anyone in the House. “What is it?” He then asked.

“A toy,” Hector answered, unhelpful even unknowingly so. “At least it was, for my son. On the eve of my last battle, I took it with me to the field, hoping that it would bring me good luck. Or, at least, the strength to face my opponent because I knew I had something to fight for. Naïve of me as it did not, but perhaps it will be different for you. May it grant you the swiftness you desire, Your Highness.”

The shade had a son as well… Zagreus stared at the creature for longer, granting it the respect it deserved with a small wish of his own offered to it. He then looked back at Hector, smiling softly at the shade who watched him with an unreadable expression. “Thank you, sir. I will keep it safe; I promise you that. Does this mean we can start anew…no hard feelings? Maybe even be friends?”

Hector sighed out a quiet chuckle. “If that is your wish.” A set of loud cheers from behind the door rose then, silencing the two for a moment before the cheers became nothing more than a buzz again. “They are waiting for you,” came Hector’s voice, bringing Zagreus back to the conversation. “Good luck against the champion today… Though, he may need that more than you do, I suspect.” A jest that made Zagreus grin in response.

“Until next time, then?” Zagreus said in hope.

“Until next time,” Hector agreed, before turning to Charon with a slight bow of his head. “Thank you again, for your kindness, Lord Charon.”

“ _Nnnnrgghhh…_ ” Charon murmured a pleasant groan, which seemed to be enough for the shade as he turned away and headed into the stadium proper. Zagreus was able to spy Asterius for a split second, standing in the middle of the ring as he used the butt of his great axe for support, and looking quite impassive towards whatever pomp Theseus was throwing around to make the crowd go wild as it were. But the door slid shut and his window into his next encounter was gone.

“Hey, Charon?” Zagreus then started as he turned towards the other, holding up Hector’s keepsake to allow the boatman to get a better look at it from where he floated quite casually above the grass. “Do you know what this is?”

“ _Hooooh heehhhh… nuuurghh_ ,” Charon groaned in explanation.

“A horse!” Zagreus exclaimed, getting another look at the odd creature as if the name would grant him a better inspection of its small wooden body. “What _is_ a horse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe if u stanned hector apollo wouldn’t have shot an arrow through ur heel 
> 
> i'm sorry i love achilles, but hector is my Boy™ so this was going to happen eventually.


	4. A Study in Four Parts of War and Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: (part one) mentions of gore. (part four) non-explicit intimacy.

**I.**

Odd things tended to happen on the battlefield, right in the heart of the main fight itself, as was its very nature. There was nothing too surprising about split second coincidences. Men who continued their rush through enemy lines despite a mortal wound upon their person—determined to take at least one other right down to Hades with them—were but one odd, but common, occurrence to see. It was the very thrill that kept them going after all logic said they should have dropped. A short burst, a cry of anger from the mortals, and a certain delicious glee rose up within Ares to see it, feel it, even hear it all happening right before him in the very frenzy that battle wrought.

When these situations happened, Ares liked to give the mad mortals that extra push to keep going for longer. With his generous blessings they would be able to take down a second, a third, even a fourth with their gore-tipped spear before collapsing right beside their victims on the ground, embracing in death and swallowed whole by the lovely keres. It was all rather lovely to witness, exciting even—it made Ares love the mortals and their keen stubbornness even more than he had before. He could feel his own heart pumping faster and faster, churning the golden ichor through his divine veins. The same tempo was set for him as it was set for the mortals who fought with him, giving their all into the beautiful carnage of war.

Overall, it was normal. Odd to some who knew naught of battle, yes, but normal all the same. Now, what was not normal in the slightest were when the mortals continued going even after that, especially those who had been decapitated, overcame a whole spillage of their guts onto the dusty ground, or had such a grey pallor to them that they resembled a corpse more than the brothers they currently fought beside. Ares was sure those, specifically, should have been dead on the ground—he may not be the god of death, per se, but some things like this, he could figure it out himself well enough. Or so he thought…with building confusion.

Ares had to pause, and so did his retinue of war gods who surrounded the battlefield, watching this true… _oddness_ take its turn through the battling armies. The first thought Ares had was of a trick being played upon him for something inane he had done to wound another’s pride, but no god upon Olympus, not even Zeus himself, held this kind of power over mortal lives. Which only brought him to question: where was Thanatos? Where were his death-dealing sisters who ate the very souls of those who died violently upon the battlefield? The former never joined, just watched until the end where he would be truly needed, but the latter did and there were no signs of them anywhere to be seen. Even so, sometimes they were late and that mattered naught because the _mortals still died._

No…something was _wrong_ because absolutely _no one_ was dying. Like some primordial god higher than Thanatos decided to flip a switch and bring mortals back to that golden age, long before Prometheus betrayed Lord Zeus and gave them the knowledge of fire that ended him chained to a rock with his liver pecked out for days on end. Where nectar flowed in the rivers, the earth gave what they needed in abundance, and peace reigned without any violent deaths to show for it. What need would he have if that were the truth of it? Ares eyed the armies before stalking forward, right into the clash that was slowing down the more the mortals began to realize what was happening to them all. His sword materialized in his hand and, brushing the mist from a Lochagos’ eyes, he plunged his blade right through the mortal’s heart.

Watching him closely, the Lochagos, with wide eyes upon the war god, had only flinched as his well-made armor merely blunted the blow. Pain ravaged behind eyes, but death did not come to him like it should have. “L-Lord Ares,” he stammered out. “What have I done?” Still, nothing. Not even a waver to his stance even as blood dribbled out of his mouth. “What have I done?” Came the question again, desperate and frightened that he had spurned a god somehow with his earlier actions. Ares pulled the sword out, letting the weapon vanish upon release. Nothing _still_.

“You have served me well, my scion,” Ares assured, hand gripping the back of the Lochagos’ neck in assurance. “But I need you to do something for me and speak of this to no one.” The war gods began to form a loose circle around the two with varying degrees of confusion and anger plainly written on their faces. None were pleased. Why should they be? If this was the end of death, then this was the end of wars—what then is their rate of survival amongst gods who would rather see them gone? “Keep watch over your army and, should something change, you are to tell me or any of the gods who now surround you.”

Fear flared up in the Lochagos, but he accepted with a salute that still held firm even through the pain. That was all Ares cared about as he waved the mortal away—who staggered back, taking a couple glances towards each god he had passed and then down at the grievous wound that now painted his chest a brilliant crimson. Ares then flicked his attention to his twin sons, Deimos and Phobos. “Get me answers, now!” He demanded and, with a curt salute as well, they hurried off in Ares’ golden chariot. The Underworld was barred to them, so Olympus would have to be the destination in mind. Someone _might_ know up there.

Meanwhile, more of the mortals were beginning to catch onto the absurdity of the situation and, as the gods stopped, so too did they in tandem. Those who should be dead, wept to the heavens to ease their suffering. Pleading, bargaining, questioning why they were going through this kind of torture. _Why them? What did they do?_ Those who were alive and well stared upon their misshapen brothers with utter disgust to the point where they vomited up the last remains of their morning meal onto the blood-drenched field, adding onto the stench as if it could not get any worse than it already was.

Among the wretched, there were a few in number who were curious enough to take hold of their weapons and ram them, with death-dealing blows, through those who had the unfortunate luck of being nearby. Those subjected to that violence were found to remain standing, breathing, full of life and now insulted that another would dare at such a godless time like this. Small spats broke out because of that, but Ares ordered his gods to come to him, thus making fights fizzle out to nothingness. There was no point to a war, no point to a battle, if no one died. There was _no point_ in fighting when the very _reason_ to fight harder in the first place was _wiped_ from the very mortals themselves!

“What the hell is going on!?” Ares roared out in frustration. Dare he pull at his hair and beat upon his chest? Become a mourner for his own funeral with the absence of what made him what he was? “Was there a vacation Thanatos had gone on that we had not been privy to?”

“Oh, come now, Brother,” Enyo tsked, irritated as she pushed blood-drenched curls from her face. Snarling mouth bit down on each word she spat out. “Surely there’s a good enough explanation for this. Or not. Either way, I’ll gut him myself if I have too.”

“I doubt any of this was willingly brought upon by Thanatos,” Kydoimos interjected, steady on his feet as he pondered this situation with a furrowed brow. The ever-rational one out of all the war gods, but ironic as it were his very fate to bring others to confusion. “It is unlike him—from all we know about death, is that it is sure. Always. Faithfully. No one can escape it, yes? The chance of him skipping a day is quite the rarity or, dare I say, an impossibility. You know this, Ares. You _know_ him.”

“He usually comes right after the first blow,” Alala added with a little point of her finger. She was cleaner than those who surrounded her, helm and chest guard shining against the bright rays of the sun. Not one to fully partake in the battle, but merely to cast her voice loud and strong for the armies’ own courage (or fear). “Never misses it, in fact. I often stay with him at times. He’s quite the conversationalist, albeit soft in voice. But he’s ever dutiful. Remember, Father, when you challenged him to a drinking contest after a war and he denied you on account of having more mortals to visit?”

Polemos grunted at the memory, attention more drawn to the cloth he was swiping against the blunt end of his war hammer. There were bits of bone that he flicked off with a minor look of distaste. “Could’ve been because he just didn’t want to drink with me. That god has a stick up his ass for all I know. Just floating there, judging—”

“No one likes to drink with you, Polemos,” Homados commented in jest, laughing with the rest. Brothers as they were, such jabs at each other were common practice at this point. Amusing to watch, but at the moment, it was not as appreciated. “No need to get so mad at the guy for rejecting you.” Polemos felt that much, perhaps, because the comment would have led to blows on any normal day, but instead the god merely rolled his eyes in response.

“This war was planned as well,” Enyalius murmured from the back. Disappointed that this had come to pass—his very essence of being was threatened. Hard to fault him for taking this slip personally. “Didn’t know he needed a damned invitation to come here and partake.” A quip that had his mother, Enyo, grinning, but all Ares felt was irritation. Irritation at everyone, everything, and most of all whatever happened to allow such a grievance to occur in the first place.

Deimos and Phobos came back then, descending from the heavens as swift as the chariot and the four horses would guide them. Parking it a few meters away, they hurried to the loose huddle of gods with agitated glances towards the mortals who were also gathering in their own huddles to, undoubtedly, speak of what they were to do now. Each Lochagos, and even the Polemarch’s themselves, were at a loss more so than the gods, and prayers were beginning to start. Ares felt the itch in the back of his mind of whispered words and loud proclamations of why they had been abandoned. Soon enough the sacrifices will start—the other gods would be notified. Temple priests will be brought over to search for answers in the smoke and entrails, given that they could sacrifice anything properly in this deathless state. The itch will continue to grow, marking it a nuisance he could not— _did not want_ to deal with.

“Artemis, too, is being kept from her hunt,” Deimos explained quickly once the two returned to Ares’ side. They, at least, knew the value of not wasting time. “Says she and her nymphs are not able to kill anything they pierce.” There was a small relief that it was not just them, or wars in general. It was everything. No one, not even the animals, were dying.

“Dionysus is the only one having fun with it,” Phobos added with a sharp-toothed grin. “Dismembered corpses are still talking to him and he bathes them in nectar for such a feat that they unwittingly conquered. Might as well keep it going just for him, hm? The fear in those mortals is quite good—”

“ _No_ ,” Ares snapped. “If Olympus has no knowledge of what’s happening, then I must go to my Uncle. He is not one to shirk in his duties either.” It just took far too long to get to the depths of the Underworld. A slow-moving boat ride was not what he wanted to do today, but he supposed it was now necessary. With another sneer, he turned back to the other war gods awaiting orders. “Enyo, send word if anything changes in the war. The Lochagos I spoke to earlier, keep an eye on him. Once he falls, I want Kydoimos to personally see to it that he is given honors in the Underworld.” Nods of agreement were given from his audience, allowing Ares to leave the battlefield while the sun was still at its highest peak in the sky.

_What a waste of a day._

**II.**

The ride down to the House of Hades was agonizingly long, as was expected. Charon, despite his best efforts to speed up the process, could not. The very river of Styx would not allow it. Ares, in the call for patience in himself, was anything but that during the ride. His leg bounced as he sat upon the wooden bench and stared hard at the water, watching the shades grope and cling desperately to the boat, only to be pulled back in by the river that dared not let them go. Yet once he saw the entrance to the palace proper within the depths, Ares did not wait for Charon to park his boat at the small, stone dock. He escaped his taxi—feet splashing, stained red by Styx that tried and failed to pull him under; his strides were too strong, his divinity too powerful. He soiled the marble steps with the same red that would drain back into the river, nary a drop misplaced.

“Where is he!?” Ares demanded, loud enough that it echoed through the well-known halls he stalked through (never quite so angry as he was now) and right up to the desk of the Lord of the Dead. Said lord looked on unaware, ignorant to what was happening upon the surface. That could be the only explanation—Hades would not have let this come to pass. “Where is Thanatos and why is he not working, Uncle? There was to be a war today and I cannot have _my_ war if no mortal is _dying_!”

Hades was irritatingly quiet, lips pressed together beneath a heavy beard to ponder this event before eyes flicked down to his piles of parchment. Ares’ fists clenched at his sides, fingernails digging into calloused palms, almost piercing dark skin as the seconds ticked on. “That does seem like an unfortunate problem,” murmured the older god. “No one dying, hm? Last job Thanatos had to do was place Sisyphus in chains as per the orders of Zeus. Something about violating xenia… Should not have taken him too long to see to it.”

It was a lead, perhaps the first solid one he heard today, and Ares was going to take it. “He’s in Tartarus?”

Hades nodded, flipping back the parchment. “I will send— _Ares_!”

Ares was already hurrying out towards the back of the house, pushing through gates that barred the shades from leaving before being judged. Any more time spent away from trying to get death back to the living would be another tick at his patience. His uncle was as long-winded as the rest of the older gods, so he was not willing to stand around and listen to him prattle on about how the Underworld worked and what must be done in an orderly fashion so as to not create any sort of chaos. _Damn them all_ , Ares spat as he carved his path through all manner of lowly shade that took Tartarus as their dreary home in the afterlife.

Yet, in all his rushing, Thanatos was not easy to find. How the chambers were positioned were never in neat little rows for they moved constantly, and paths twisted so nothing was ever the same twice. Tartarus was purposefully built to be a maze so as to hinder escape attempts should a shade (or a Titan) ever manage to get that far after breaking out of their chamber with its personal punishment created just for them. It was a precaution on top of a dozen other precautions that proved to be an irritant for Ares. Guess he could go back to his uncle once he got to Thanatos and tell him that everything was working as intended.

Before his anger could blow and possibly ruin a good portion of Tartarus’ maze, the chamber Ares needed was found. Within it though, was a sight that had said anger vanishing. There Thanatos was, not straight-backed and proud in standing, but folded up against one of the stone walls upon the floor. Head bowed, long silver hair creating a veil, with shoulders hunched over as if the god himself were not conscious. And, seeing glittering bronze chains wrapped around his torso, binding arms close and attached to the wall behind, Ares knew why the god looked as he did. They were draining him. His strength, his power, everything that made one a god—the chains took it all. Made for the Titans to weaken them enough to incarcerate then inside of Tartarus, sometimes these chains were also used for the worst of the shades.

He knew all of this not from Hades, or anyone else telling him. He knew all of this because he had experienced these chains before. They drained until the point of death, leaving nothing but a husk that used to be a god—it was a cruel fate, worse than a twist of a knife in the gut. No one deserved it, not even Death himself. But he also knew that one needed to act fast or the gathering weakness would make it harder for a god to regain their strength. He was no Hermes, but he had to make do with the best of his abilities.

A great axe appeared in Ares’ hand, flashing alight with its heavy, double-sided head hitting the stone floor, splitting it upon impact. With a great heft, Ares swung the sharp blade down upon the bronze chains, cracking them until they burst forth from its hold. Immediately they dropped and, with the axe disappearing, Ares made quick work on pulling the binds away from the comatose god. Dipping low, Ares got to his knees and, as gentle as a war god could, reached out with both hands to push aside the curtained veil of hair to cup Thanatos’ face. Beautiful as it always was, fit well for the god, and tilted his chin up.

“There you are, my darling Death,” Ares said softly, calloused thumbs swiping slowly across cold cheeks, urging heat to come back within them. “Chains are not fit for the likes of you.” Life was in him yet, strange as it was for the god of death, but he was not gone. Not completely—perhaps would have been if Ares were but days late.

Thanatos inhaled sharply and Ares’ hands dropped, watching as death came back to his senses. Thanatos’ eyes flew open and his form twitched as if awaiting another attack, but it was fleeting and, once his yellow-eyed gaze landed upon the war god, he relaxed again. For but a moment because as the jarring wakefulness that consciousness brought along, with it came the pain as well. Ares had remembered it feeling like a sharp, fuzzy sensation as if the ichor in his body was racing back inside of him—cold and uncomfortable. As the death god cringed, heaving a deep breath to catch a lungful of air to fill himself with as if any god truly needed such an act, Ares stood back to give him space.

“It took me a moment or two to get steady on my feet after being chained—after Hermes had put me down and stopped fretting, of course,” Ares explained, and Thanatos took another deep breath that almost sounded like an attempt at a laugh, but exhaustion and pain won out within him. Watching Thanatos now brought memories back into Ares. Memories he had desired to purge but drinking from the river Lethe does not exactly work on those like him.

“Would that…I had the stamina of a war god,” Thanatos croaked out, using the little energy he had to form words and speak them out into existence. Despite the small chuckle that escaped from Ares, he did not press the other further into expending more of that very limited strength the other god had left. Instead, he watched as said god tried to move his limbs, heavy and sluggishly so, wondering if he could even make it to his feet.

“Perhaps, then I shall take you to where you wish to go,” he spoke, stepping close to offer his hand to Thanatos. The god looked at it with a slow blink before, with a deep inhale and a large amount of effort, raised his hand to be placed on top of it. It was then that Ares secured the hold and hoisted the other onto his unsteady feet. “Where are your quarters?”

Thanatos, legs weak and unable to stand without Ares’ help, slouched against him as a result. “Apologies,” came a low murmur, forehead on the war god’s shoulder and resting upon the hard armor that decorated it. A pillow that could not have been comfortable, especially in his state already. “I will be all right in a moment. Then…you may have your war.” Hand slipped from Ares’ own as he used it to push himself up to a straight position, but it was not a stable one and did not last as long as he would have liked.

“Quarters, Thanatos, where are they?” Ares tried again; patience clipped. Fake bravado of strength did not impress him, even if unintentional. The war could still happen if Thanatos were to leave the Underworld now, but Ares would be far too concerned with the god being able to simply stand as is. If he could not do it for a second, then he would not last an entire war. All fun of the damn thing would be ruined because of it and while he knew Thanatos would say not to worry about him, Ares still would. Like with his fellow war gods and his children, there was always a worry. “The war is finished for now. As you seem unable to pull yourself together—”

“None must know,” Thanatos hissed under his breath, trying to fix robes that had twisted in the apparent struggle of being bound in chains. But he did so with just one hand, while the other steadied himself by using Ares’ shoulder as a crutch. Yet it was then that he stared back at the war god, exhaustion gone for a second in the attempt to get his point across of total secrecy. “Do you hear me, Ares? _No one_. I do not want this weak point to be recorded and twisted against me. We will have your war and we may say that it is due to another incident entirely that caused my attention to go somewhere else.”

“Unlikely to be believed, you know this,” the war god said, arms crossing over his chest as he remained ever watchful of the other in order to be ready for when the impending crash came. And, like clockwork, Thanatos teetered. Ares shot forth, taking ahold of him before he hit the floor as he gave out a huff. “All right. My palace it is.” Bending down, he wrapped his arms around Thanatos’ knees and hoisted the god over his shoulder. With a little bounce to right him so he would not slip off, Ares proceeded out of the chamber and Tartarus itself. Which, thankfully, proved to be a better trip than the one that got him here.

In the next chamber, Charon waited by one of the stone docks, his oar poised above the red waters and ready to leave. Ares did not question good fortune and, instead, got into the boat after laying Thanatos’ body therein. With a small command to head towards the surface, the ferrymen did just that without any moaned questions as to why. Being the brother to the death god, perhaps he knew the other well enough to realize that after such events leading him to be in an unconscious state, dealing with Hades’ questions was not the best option to take. Nor would it be the wisest, Ares admitted. Let the Lord of the House think that Thanatos was back to doing his job—such statements were not completely false, after all.

**III.**

The surface was bright when Ares exited the Underworld, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. Helios, undoubtedly, was looking down upon him and watching every move to see what was happening upon the Earth. With death on his shoulder, it might have been quite the interesting sight, but he had no care for the sun god nor of his gossip that spurred gods to act uncouth in their boredom. Ares walked at a brisk pace to where Deimos and Phobos were waiting with his chariot ready to leave. His horses, yoked to the car with their glimmering reins, dug and dented the ground with their hard-worn hooves in impatience.

“To Thrace,” Ares ordered as his sons got into the chariot, gathering the reins in their hands like they had done a thousand times before. Ares stepped aboard behind them and, with one hand on the edge, his swift-footed horses pulled upon the chariot and kicked up a storm of dust in their wake as they left the entrance to the Underworld behind. He had to tighten his hold on Thanatos’ legs during the journey, lest the god plummet down and experience the most unpleasant ways to ruin an immortal body. Survivable, but with how weak he was now, the healing period would be even less pleasant than it would have been normally.

Once they arrived, the seemingly barren forest gathered around and sheltered them from the sun’s rays. Ares was quick in heading inside of the grand, open-air courtyard of his palace, and called upon the nymphs that resided there full-time. It was nothing humble, to say the least. White Doric columns made up the surrounding support, but the individual rooms that framed the courtyard were vast and richly decorated fit enough for a god like Ares. Just beyond it where the sounds of a flowing spring could be heard past the dense thicket of trees, the fountain in the middle of the courtyard proper ran those very same blessed waters of the naiad nymphs. While Ares and Thanatos were the only gods therein, it was not always so. Among the nymphs, war gods and their children, and anyone else Ares deemed acceptable, were able to use this very place as a small, recluse to get away from all of the trials and tribulations that immortal life (and sometimes mortal life) had to offer them.

“Bathe, dress, give him whatever he needs,” Ares said as he set Thanatos on his feet, unstable and unconscious as he was, so that two nymphs could support the god in getting him to the bath house with only moderate difficulty. One other nymph, Thero, had remained for but a moment longer. Hair like water, skin clear-blue akin the very healing fountains that they were all born from, but upon her face was the very same patient look she had for Ares all his life, from infancy to now. “I want him nursed back to health as fast as you can,” he told her. “You should be good at this type of ailment, seeing as you helped me with it first centuries ago.” The nymph gave him a sour look, but it did not diminish the adoration in her eyes for the war god.

“And what of you, my child?” But it was a question that had Ares waving her off in a gentle dismissal, saying that he was not what mattered in this moment. He was unsure if Thanatos wanted to get right back to his duties for the day or not, so making sure he was conscious enough to make said decision was key. Thero nodded at that before retreating back inside, following the same path that the other nymphs went to tend to Thanatos’ own wounds. Hopefully, it was not too much of a burden put upon them.

Ares pressed on alone, past the courtyard and into his own room that gave way to the picture of Enyo lounging upon a gold and crimson chaise. Already cleaned from the gore of the day and dressed in a long, plain white peplos fringed in gold, curls that were back to their original blonde coloring danced freely upon her neck, she swirled a cup of nectar as she regarded him. Words were not exchanged until Ares was out of his own armor, the blood cleaned off of his own flesh, and a loose exomis hung over his left shoulder. He tied a leather cord around his hips, securing the fabric on his form and, deeming it to be the right time to do so, Enyo spoke up to break the silence in the room.

“The mortals finally died,” she said in the same annoyance Ares had felt from the very beginning of this truly odd set of circumstances. She drained the nectar from her cup that she then sat upon a nearby wooden table. Sitting up straighter, she continued her explanation. “The Keres had their fill once they felt their power return, which was odd to watch when it happened. The mortal you stabbed was given directly to Hermes—the Keres did not touch him.” There was a pause as she finished before the question that had been on her tongue for hours was finally asked, “I take it Thanatos had quite the adventure?”

“You can say that,” Ares murmured, reflecting on what he had just heard as he poured a cup of nectar to down it one swallow. The rejuvenating taste had him sighing in content before he poured himself another cup. This one though, he took his time with as his red eyes blurred over, staring at nothing in the distance. A lot had happened today and all of which he wanted to say was not good in the slightest. He was exhausted mentally—to think, a mortal had created this headache as they so often do. Yet, he still had to ask: “Is there to be another war from these mortals, at least?”

“No,” she sneered, picking at a loose thread upon a throw pillow before ripping it off entirely in her irritation. Surprising to see that there was no hole created because of that tear. “They decided to make peace with each other using _parchment_ and _words_. The tart was there to steal the glory of it all, though. As if the whole thing was her idea—she doesn’t even _deal_ in _peace_. But right when the mortals decided it, there she was to grant her blessings and _poof_ , she was gone again. Busy busy for one such as her. Probably off to curse another mortal because they were better than her at making a blanket or something.”

_Athena_ … Ares’ lip curled in disgust. The one goddess, who presided over one aspect of war, did not exactly like to concern herself with others like herself. Instead, she looked down her nose at them as if she were not the same. And perhaps she was right in that line of thinking—being only among the generals and never getting one’s hands dirty, was not what made for a true war god who fought beside those who actually won the wars. Still, he liked to call her a delusional puppet of their shared father. Even now at the tale of her exploit. “Of course she did. Father must be so proud without even realizing what had happened to get the mortals to that state in the first place.” Another sigh, but more so in irritation as he took his seat on the edge of the chaise Enyo had taken up. “Let the mortals have their peace then. They will be back to their wars never to believe this all happened in the first place.”

Enyo hummed, but a sly smile was soon to lift her full, red lips as she eyed him. “And the unconscious god in your chambers?” She pestered, but Ares did not rise to the bait. Instead, he took another sip of his nectar as he peered over at her. An impish glint was in her fiery eyes that spoke of a thought tucked deep inside them that Ares did not want to know. But she would speak it in due time. Not today, perhaps not even tomorrow, but she will make sure it was in the most inopportune time just to get some sort of enjoyment out of it.

“He wanted no one to know,” Ares began, explaining it to her, emphasizing that with a pointed stare. Though he trusted her well enough. Who was she going to tell? The other war gods who already knew by now from Deimos and Phobos returning to the mountaintop? “It would be better for him here anyway if he really wanted to be away from prying questions. But should Thanatos not wish to be here, I will not force him to remain—once he wakes, of course. None of the gods look to Thrace anyway. I doubt even Helios cared to take note the moment I crossed the sea.”

“ _Barbaric lot_ ,” Enyo mimicked their father’s past grievances about the Thracian Tribes before dissolving into a cackle. “Shows what they know about a good time with good mortals. Nothing like what’s bred in Athens.” It was then that she sat up, draping her arms around his shoulders from behind. Breath tickling the tip of his right ear. “Next war, Brother. It will be bigger than this one would have been, believe you me.” A kiss was pressed to his cheek before she disappeared, leaving Ares alone to drown the rest of his nectar, somewhat despondent in nature despite Enyo’s assurances.

He did not move from his spot for a while after that, even with an empty cup dangling between his legs on a bent finger, drops of nectar hitting the mosaiced floors. The only time he looked up was to find Thero waiting for him at the threshold to his room. She was smiling softly at him, so good news was clear. Still, he asked: “What of his condition?” Standing, he discarded the cup next to Enyo’s desolate one on the table, and made his way towards the nymph who, upon his approach, turned to lead him down towards the back rooms while she answered him plainly.

“Weak, naturally, but recuperating at a healthy pace for one such as he,” she explained in a quiet voice, careful not to bring an echo to bounce off of the walls in the hallway in want to not disturb their new guest. Even her steps were humbled, gliding along the floor as if she were the very spring waters itself. Ares, in his youth, tried to mimic the nymphs’ dancing strides—such a thing that helped him later in his training. “Thankfully, you got to him as quick as you did. I dare not think of what would have happened were it similar to you. Half dead and getting worse.” She shook her head. “But rest easy, my child, no lasting harm has been done. Death is not one to let go so easily even if the mortals he visits do.”

“Thank you, Thero,” he said, and at that, she left him with a comforting touch to his arm. Once she was out of sight, he made his way into the spare room where Thanatos was seen standing without any support around him (a promising sight). Though his movements were slow as he clasped the golden neck guard around his throat, huffing as his arms dropped to his side as if that task took a large amount of effort from him. “How do you feel?” Came the question as a sort of announcement to his arrival, not wanting to sneak around a god who had already been wounded enough for the day. Being trapped as such could make one jumpy…

Yet, he could not help but to drink in the very sight that was presented to him. Attraction evident as it had always been there for the death god—a secret to no one. Thanatos’ dark, greying skin was paired beautifully with the gold jewelry he wore upon his person. Ares’ time with Aphrodite had made him appreciate these kinds of things in others, like how their muscles tense under flesh, the dimples that formed on the lower back, or the very strength that can be seen by just how one stood in place. However, that did not stop Ares from wondering if said attraction was due to what the god represented to him, or if it really mattered in the first place. Were not gods’ own attractions just as simple as that in the end? Red eyes got their fill anyway as the war god leaned against the nearby wall with arms crossed loosely across his chest.

Thanatos, in the meantime, did not turn to look at Ares as he answered. Silver hair spilling over slumped shoulders, tickling his back with his movements. “Well enough.” Fingers dragged clothes from the bed to continue the attempt in dressing himself before another stifled sigh emerged, outing the words that had been spoken as convenient lies to delude oneself to keep on going. Ares was no stranger to such tactics; thus, he gave a light poke to the metaphorical wound with his next question.

“Truthfully?”

That made Thanatos finally turn to look at Ares with his dark lavender exomis pinched tight between fingers. Broad shoulders lowered, bright yellow eyes flicking away from the gaze they both had held; revealing all to each other in that quick shared moment. “I—” Hair moved like a drape sliding into view, veiling the god’s profile to give him the privacy he wanted. Convenient length for it, too. “No. I—” A shake of his head, an irritated swipe at the hair to push the stray strands behind his ear. The veil gone; Thanatos bared more to Ares then. “I don’t know whether it is the humiliation of how I got there or the chains themselves that is making this worse than it should be.”

Ares pushed up from the wall, making his way over to the other before taking the exomis from his hold. A quiet protest was heard, but Ares ignored it as he righted the fabric in the correct direction to be placed upon a person. “Tell me what happened. Perhaps then you may find the answer you seek. If not, then you have only let off steam with words that will never see the outside of this room,” he said as he began to drape the soft fabric over the left shoulder, intent to dress Thanatos when the god could not do it himself. “I see it as a win either way for you. Am I wrong?” 

Thanatos surrendered to the care and began his tale of woe, finding a confidant within Ares who was the only god to have possibly known what being chained up felt like. He spoke of how the mortal Sisyphus had tricked him into the position that Ares found him in. Thinking the mortal’s curiosity to be an innocent one, he gave in and showed him the chains and how they worked, especially when it came to binding shades themselves. His reasoning in all of this was, why lie to a prisoner and not explain what they were to go through due to a god’s ire upon them? It was all very naïve, Thanatos had admitted to Ares, and for one as old as he and who had spent an awful lot of time with mortals during their most revealing times, he should have known. He should have guessed the mortal’s intention, but he did not.

Sisyphus had escaped in the end and Thanatos wanted nothing to do with him—lucky for the mortal, perhaps, but that only meant that Zeus and Hades would design a punishment far worse for the man once death finally does end up taking him. During his retelling, Ares had finished off wrapping the exomis and fitted the skull-faced belt around Thanatos’ hips to keep it in place. He did not reach for the pants then, but it did not seem to be needed as Thanatos sat down upon the edge of the bed, defeated at having to remember his mistake.

Thero had also come back in this time, carrying a cup of warmed up, spiced nectar to which she gave to Ares before leaving again. Ares then held out the cup to Thanatos who stared at the offering with an unsure look flittering across his face. “You are not in the Underworld,” Ares reminded him in an attempt to persuade. “Plus, this will give you your strength back faster. All gods need this, not just those upon Olympus.”

Thanatos sighed and ended up taking the cup with only a hint of hesitance to his actions. Interest was only faint towards the drink, but he did take a sip and that was enough for Ares at this point. There was only so much pushing one could do to someone as stubborn as the god of death. “That is why I wanted no one to know… No one that did not need to know, to know, that is,” Thanatos said in finality.

“Pride is such a sacred thing for our kind,” Ares mused with a low hum to his voice. “But every god has had something happen to them that they were not too keen on others knowing. Let alone the mortals themselves. I only speak as such to remind you that, while you feel it is mortifying, you are not alone in it. Though, forgive me for it not being as comforting as you perhaps wanted. I am not one for sweet lies to nurse wounds with.”

At that, Thanatos gave a small quirk of his lips into a brief smile. “The attempt was appreciated nonetheless.” A pause then before he looked up at Ares. There was a challenge rising in him. “And what of my lack of work? Would your colleagues not be disappointed in the cancelation of a war, _Lord_ Ares?”

“They already are,” Ares laughed. “But seeing as your sisters are back to their full power and Hermes has a slightly longer list of things to do, I do not see why you cannot recuperate for an hour or so here, or wherever you feel most comfortable. I know those chains are hell even upon us gods. Why do you think they use them for Titans of all beings? There is only fault to be placed upon the mortal who dared to think he was better than the gods. Not you, I assure you of that.”

Thanatos was quiet for a moment, pondering over what had been said, before in a quieter voice, he asked: “How long did it take you?”

“Fully? A week,” he answered easily. There was nothing to think about when he remembered it as if had happened just the other day. _The gods and their trauma, a lovely thing that makes the mortals connect with us on a deeper level_ , Ares supposed. “I was able to walk around after a couple minutes, but the effects thereafter were akin to a withdrawal. Granted I was almost dead by the time I was free, while you…not so much, and you should be glad of it. Though, if you were to ask my opinion upon the whole idea of rest, I’m never averse to it. A day would help, but of course, it is always up to you. This place is yours to come and go as you please.”

Thanatos looked away then; eyes turned down to the cold, stone floor. Silver hair moved again to veil his face without the irritated flick away this time, and Ares took that as a sign for him to leave the god to his thoughts. A wounded pride is not one to continue picking at. Thus, he made his way out of the room and towards the main parlor where he would remain. Therein were a couple padded benches set around a large, lit hearth that gave the room its light; spartan in contrast to much of the other rooms in the house for the nymphs rarely gathered within this one. But it was there, on the floor with his back against a bench and bare feet up against the hearth, that Ares sat, given a small bowl of water and a whetstone by Thero. His sword appeared in his grasp before he got to work on the blade, sharpening it until it was able to cut through stone as if it were made from flesh itself.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, Helios drove his chariot closer to home, and it bathed the room in a brilliant orange glow. At this time, Ares set his sword aside and allowed his great axe to appear then. Turning the weapon, which was almost taller than himself, so that the blades faced him, was quite the cumbersome task to do. The want to not move to make it easier on himself settled on heavy limbs. So, he was successful, but he managed to cut himself on his bicep in achieving said success. With a soft _tsk_ , Ares swiped the golden ichor from the already healed wound with the palm of his hand.

“You always surprise me,” came Thanatos’ low monotone voice from the other end of the room. He looked as if he had just awoken from a nap, staring at Ares with a hint of bewildered amusement. “This place, nymphs, this—” he gestured towards Ares and his ichor-smeared palm. With shuffling steps (either too polite or too tired to actually float as his means of transportation) he came near and sat upon the edge of the bench as he looked down at the war god’s work. “Who is the true Ares, I always ask myself whenever I see you. Never am I given an answer because it always changes.”

Ares huffed a laugh as he went back to his work, taking a cloth and dipping it into the water so he could clean his hand off. “All of it is the true me,” he said. “Though you are not the first to ask such questions. Some are worded more boorish than others, I assure you, even if they are all amusing to hear. My answers never satisfy them though, so they keep asking.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he said, making Ares now look on in amusement. “Dare I use your words against you and say that you doing so can be a way to blow off steam with words that will never see the outside of this room?”

The war god’s actions slowed for a moment before he tossed the cloth aside and picked up the whetstone again. Thanatos had a point there, but he was not sure how he could explain it. Such a thing was always a part of his person—his godhood, more or less. His father and uncle often called him odd, unused to the kind of actions Ares took because the reasons for them were never blatant for the other gods to see or understand for themselves. There was seldom a time where he became petty against a mortal without good reason. Adonis was the only one he could remember, the only one that stuck out to him. That was the one time where he felt like a true Olympian, but it was pathetic because he thought he had only lowered himself to their level.

“Olympus and its gods often give me a headache,” he started as he put stone to blade. “Thrace had always been a home to me, so I thought to make my own residence here. Of course, I still live atop that mountain. My war gods, my children—they are all up there, so I can never fully leave. Not to mention it is a better vantage point, but I digress.” A pause was given to get him back on track; the stone slid slowly upon the blade with a sharp, metallic sound. “The nymphs, on the other hand, are the family of my nursemaid, Thero. I had grown attached to her, so I allowed her to have this as her home. From the spring you saw in the courtyard, to the fountain of which they came from in Sparta, they may travel freely and without fear.” Observing the blade, he pressed upon it lightly with the pad of his thumb. Ichor beaded up as the wound closed. Sharp enough—he then started on the second blade that lay to his left.

“How thoughtful of you,” Thanatos said quietly without a hint of malice in his voice. Ares merely shrugged, continuing the task before him as Thanatos lapsed into a thoughtful silence beside him. Not many know of what Ares did within his free time because such things were not needed to know. All gods had that in common, like Artemis and her sole devotion to her nymph, Callisto. Father did not need to know about that even when it was obvious what was becoming of those two. “Though, perhaps, unsurprising now that I think of it. You give me far more work than any other god, but seldom do I find myself in disagreement with you. While others upon the surface—” He ended that with a shake of his head and Ares grinned despite himself.

“They have more free time than most,” Ares said in amusement as he tested the second blade. Once it came up to successfully cut him, he let it disappear from his lap. It was then that he pulled up his knees and straightened his back, dropping the whetstone into the water with a quiet splash. “But I was serious before about this place. It can be open to you as well, Thanatos.” He lifted his head to look at death staring back at him with a curious glint to his eyes. “Since you seem to be in no rush to go back to your actual home.”

Thanatos pressed his lips together and looked away, finally breaking their shared gaze once again. Chagrin, was it, that Ares spied upon the others face? The death god’s jaw set, flexing for a moment before the tension released with a pent-up sigh. “The House…has been tense, as of late,” he started in a small voice. “It is like you said of Olympus. The denizens of the Underworld often give me a headache as well. So, I…I appreciate you offering this place to me. It holds its peace well—odd coming from the god of war himself, though.”

Ares laughed then, loud and boisterous. Now that the other mentioned it, it would be quite the odd offering from someone such as he. He never did look at it that way until now and it proved to be a most humorous thought. “I do like my rest every now and again, Thanatos, even if your brother is too scared to visit me so I can actually _sleep_.”

Thanatos smiled at that, with a huffed chuckle that rose up and dissipated quickly. Ares could confidently say that that was as much mirth as he was going to get from the god of death, and it was enough. A serene look overcame the god and a whispered “Thank you” pricked at Ares’ hearing, making him give a soft smile in turn. It was always enough.

**IV.**

Selene’s beautiful silver rays lit up the starry sky as Nyx herself spread the darkness far across the Earth’s expanse and Thanatos was still in the palace. Sitting with legs crisscrossed upon one of the benches, he spoke with Ares at length about whatever seemed to pop up in his mind. Ares returned the sentiment, going back and forth between each other for any an odd topic. Even when there was a lull in the conversation where silence prevailed, it only lasted for but a second because one of the gods would then make a comment about something and the conversation would reignite itself as if it had never silenced in the first place

No topic was off limits either. Philosophy, war and its necessity, the mortals and their odd ways of living due to very limited lifespans, Ares’ desire to strangle Heracles to death even if that meant him dying as well to his father’s ire—anything was an open free-for-all and they took hold of it gladly as if the thought of this day ending was the very bane of their existence. Sometimes there was laughing, and sometimes there was sighing about the dreaded ‘what ifs’ or children that had perished far too early in Ares’ life. Then it came to family and Thanatos regaled him of the trials and tribulations of the brother’s and sister’s he adores but cannot stand for more than a minute even on a good day. The comradery he found in unlikely occupants in the Underworld rivaled that of what he found upon the surface. Ares was included in that and the war god snorted a laugh at the very thought of it all.

Nectar was passed between the two in these moments together. A revelry that even Dionysus would find cause to celebrate. But the golden liquid merely loosened tongues and relaxed tensed bodies burdened by duty and expectations. Thanatos ended up laying upon the bench, cup of nectar precariously held by a limp hand over the edge, while Ares watched him with faint amusement as he sat beside him, arm curved and resting on the bench by the other god’s legs. The fire in the hearth was still strong, wood was added every so often throughout the night in order to keep the flame that bathed the gods in its glaring orange flare within the darkened room.

“There are times where I think…I think about getting rid of all this hair,” Thanatos said as his limp wrist twisted, making the cup twirl in tandem. Idly so, as his other hand fingered the strands of his hair that flared out beneath his head where he lay, watching as it took on the orange light in a haze that the nectar gave to him. “I don’t know why I have suffered through it as long as I have. Mother Nyx made a comment about how she found my hair to be beautiful—and I have not cut it since.”

Though, Ares was partial to longer hair himself on others, there were perks to having it shorter. Enyo was about the only war god who kept her hair long for reasons similar to Thanatos. But that was not what stood out to him. “Do we need to unpack your fear of disappointing those in positions higher than you?” Ares asked with a smile as his leg bent at the knee, raising until it touched his chest. His hand threaded fingers through his own silver hair—scant as it were, and fluffed out the curls that hung close enough to cover his ear once it laid flat again.

Thanatos chuckled under his breath, hand stilling. “Not tonight. There are not enough hours in this night for me to properly explain what ails me with that.” While his tone suggested a sarcastic jest, the long silent pause that came after suggested that it was merely an attempt at gallows humor. Shall Ares repeat the age old: _the gods and their trauma_? Family had always been a tricky thing for many of them too. Some even get to the point of willfully ignoring said family at any chance they get. Taking more to mortals than to gods like them, so on and so forth. One would think, being who they were, they would get that right better than mortal kind, but Ares supposed that was due to limited years—made one cherish others quicker for they could only do so much with it.

Straightening his poster, Ares then pressed a hand to his chest. Proud as can be at what he was about to say: “Take it from me, the well-known disappointment to one and a half parents, most siblings, and perhaps one child: they cannot do anything to you no matter what you end up doing. Not that we are gods, but the very fact that if one of us does go, it creates an imbalance. Reason number one why my father has not locked me up in Tartarus even though I do believe he desires to every time he looks at me.” A grin then that had Thanatos rolling his eyes in amusement.

“That—I will not get into that,” Thanatos said, giving a laxed point over to Ares with the hand still holding his cup. The humor remained even when it looked like the death god was about to argue something else with him. “However, I will ask with extreme incredulous doubt: which of _your children_ is disappointed in you, _o’ god of fathers_? Is that possible?”

“Thanatos,” Ares leveled with him, giving a sobering expression as he stared dead into his yellow eyes. “I created a goddess _of peace_ with _Aphrodite_.” The death god burst out laughing, but Ares continued with a smile that was poorly smothered. “How I managed that, I have no idea—how _we_ managed that, I am at a greater loss. But Harmonia is a curious little thing that I always wondered every time I look at her: where the hells did she come from? The Fates idea of a joke, perhaps? Who knows, but she’s my child and I am sure there is some emotion akin to disappointment when it comes to what her parents and all her siblings do, which have never… _ever_ been peaceful.”

Thanatos’ laugh grew stronger the more Ares went on, almost dropping his cup with his movements while his laugh crested into a silent wheeze. But he held firm as his free hand wrapped around his abdomen, rolling onto his back to alleviate the tightening in his core from the laughter. Seeing him like so had even Ares laughing along with him, the nectar possibly fueling half of it, but that hardly was a problem. Instead, it felt good, even to see Thanatos in such a state after the day he had. Still, through his laughter, the death god managed to speak once again. “Do not tell me you have asked that question of her as well? Maybe her disappointment comes from that and not what everyone represents?”

“In my solid defense—” Ares started as he heard Thanatos laugh out a quiet ‘ _Oh no_ ’. “She was just an infant, not capable of speech, when I asked it. It was during one of the nights where I had the job of taking care of her when she cries, yes? Aphrodite slept on, so I asked as I stared down in her beautiful golden-brown eyes how she could be mine. Though, I do wonder if she had understood me because after that, she gave me the oddest look before laughing. I think she might have been mocking me then.”

“ _Ares_ ,” Thanatos remarked, humored by it all, the smile retained itself upon Death’s visage. “I do hope that Aphrodite did not hear you either. But I admit you are a far better father than any I have known, but this…this is terrible.”

Ares snickered as he downed the rest of his nectar. “What, me confused about my own child or that I sired peace?” He asked, jokingly so, setting down the cup away from himself knowing he wished no more of the divine drink tonight.

“The former, you fool,” a huffed laugh as Thanatos curled up his side again just so he could put his own cup on the ground, sliding it a bit under the bench just in case he would forget about it when he stood, and knock it over unknowingly. The mirth did slowly fade from his countenance as he did so. As if some disagreeable thought came to mind, and so it must ruin the brief fun he had. “Tell me, Ares,” the death god started as he now sat up, eyeing him as he did so. “What does it feel like to be a father? You speak such lovely things about your children all the time—it has made me wonder…”

Ares was tempted to answer in jest. That it was a nightmare to have all these kids running around who held some manner of his own personality in them as if it were payback for what he did to his own parents as a child. But the look on Thanatos’ face had his impish smile falling and a pondering look took its place. “Me saying that it is indescribable how it feels will not be sufficient for you?” He asked and Thanatos hummed in response. Taking a deep breath, he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “For one, I never once thought that I would be a father—in the beginning, I did not want to be, you understand. With having my Father and Uncle as paragons, it was not desirable. Not even when some of my siblings began having children and how they acted with them. To say the least, the genes of good parenting were not given to the gods, in my mind. Why should I condemn another brood of gods, or demigods, to that same fate, but under my hand instead? But I forgot my position as the first-born son and, in my Mother’s eyes only, the heir apparent. It was she who commanded I have a child—all the more to strengthen my position as a threat and not get left behind by the _‘bastards’_.”

A pause because Thanatos put up his hand to call for one. Ares had a feeling that was going to happen, so he looked at the other god with amused expectancy. “What happened to the god who told me that they cannot do anything to you, and so on and so forth? I find it hard to believe that you did as you were told at this rate, as I have never seen that happen.”

He hummed. “Hard to believe, hm? This is also why I said that I am a disappointment to one and a half parents. Keep up now, dear Death.” Thanatos looked at him, bewildered for a moment before he let out a laugh, gesturing for Ares to continue. “For my Mother, and what I see her go through on account of my Father and many others who do not respect her as queen, I do as she commands—relatively with a small degree of unwillingness when it comes to _some_ things, mind you.”

“I do understand your point,” Thanatos admitted, as if the remembrance of what had been said about his own mother finally came back to him. “Does that mean, this is why you had your first child with Enyo? Your Mother willed it to be so?”

“Not that I didn’t mind, nor did she, so it was not a complete forceful coupling. If it were forced, it would have been with Hebe instead.” Thanatos nodded then, understanding further, so Ares went on. “Thus, when Enyalius was born, he immediately became beloved in my eyes from the very first moment I saw him. The love I felt…the very desire to protect him and never let anything bad happen to him—” He had his hands out, searching for the words to properly describe these emotions he had felt before curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hands back to his lap. “I thought it was only a feeling for when you had your first child. That it would dim as he grew up and I had more, but that never happened. I felt the same holding my tenth as I was holding my first—and watching them grow into themselves, finding their way through this world and who they are as gods, or demigods, it’s…beautiful, Thanatos. I have never felt happiness as I do when it concerns my children. Nothing compares to the pride I have for all of them.”

“And it never goes away, even in their death?” It was a rhetorical question as it was obvious the answer from Ares would undoubtedly be a yes, to which the war god nodded as such anyway. “Your demigods, I have not picked up many of them. But the ones that I have, they were not what I expected. In a good way, I assure you—they even had much to say about you and, when Hermes came to claim their souls, even he was not so taken aback by how they speak of you and how…how polite and unafraid of death they were.”

Ares laughed softly. “Polite to a fault for some, others would rather cut out their own tongue before saying a simple ‘thank you’ to someone they felt did not deserve it. Which was just about anyone aside from their own mother and I.” He raised a hand, rubbing his cheek with his palm before letting it drop. “I tried to be there as much as I could for even the mortal ones. Instill in them what they need in order to survive—some less prepared than others. Ah, but they all turn out all right in the end, even if others would disagree with me there.”

“As I expected you would.” Thanatos was watching him closely then and when Ares met his eyes, the god gave a soft smile in turn. “Thank you for regaling me of your children, Ares,” he said. “Sometimes it is easy to forget what a good father is supposed to act like.”

“You really are not letting me even _fake_ being humble about this, hm?” Ares jested and Thanatos’ smile widened a bit more across his sculpted face filled with good humor.

“No, I suppose I’m not.” Yet paired with that good humor, there was still a certain sadness behind his eyes. Something of which that Ares had often come to know, that was never too far from the god of death. As if he were in perpetual mourning, but when there were no souls to claim, what was he mourning for? It was then, while Ares watched Thanatos, that he noticed a small narrow to those eyes of his as if he were deciding between two choices available to him. What they were, Ares could not be too sure, but he could guess at one when Thanatos began to move closer to him. Planting his hands on the bench, his body stretched out the full length before dropping his head close to the war god, who did not move away upon approach. Instead, Ares drank in the sight proffered to him before lips were on him, pressing against his own in a soft, delicate act that gave rise to a question if that was the original intent from Thanatos.

But Thanatos remained to kiss him again and Ares opened his mouth, welcoming the god with assurances that this was what he wanted as well. Burnt incense mingled with the heady taste of the divine nectar upon Death’s tongue, delightfully familiar in all aspects, and Ares allowed it to intoxicate him as if it were Dionysus’ own special blend. While the kiss grew stronger and more sure of itself, Thanatos gripped the sides of Ares’ face to tug the god closer. Ares gave way, pushing himself up from the floor to climb upon the bench without breaking contact from the other. He continued to crawl forward then, and Thanatos tumbled, landing flat on his back with the weight of Ares pressing him down against the plush crimson cushion that had been his perch for hours now.

With strong legs wrapped around equally stronger thighs and hips bucking up creating a delicious friction that had breaths inhaling sharply in response, it was Ares who had become ensnared by desperate limbs wanting more—and who was he to deny that simple request? This was not their first, nor did he doubt that it would be his last go-around with the god of death for as long as their work kept pushing them together, and as weak as they were to deny one another, the pieces of this relationship would constantly find their match.

But as Ares had helped Thanatos dress, he helped him undress by pulling the skull belt forth from around his hips before unwrapping the richly spun fabric that covered the darkened grey flesh he so desired. It was only when hands clawed and pulled at the back of his own exomis did Ares pull that off of himself with very little fanfare for he dipped back down to cover the expanse of death’s flesh with biting kisses, admiring the curvature of taut muscles flexing and dancing beneath with each writhe of his body. Ares watched as the curt and well-spoken god unraveled beneath his mouth and deliberate finger presses, denting skin within their grip. Thanatos crooned quietly, messy and uncouth, demanding Ares not to tease him any longer. With sweat casting a sheen over their bodies that ached for more by the heat of the hearth, the demand was quite the reasonable one that Ares could not ignore further.

Nectar was used for lack of a better substitute nearby (shoddy as it were, neither of them wanted to move from their tangled positions and cool down what they had created between them). Alas they were not frail mortals, thus Ares plunged inside of Thanatos once prepped, forcing the god into an arch of his back and a silent moan—taking him in fully with the absence of debilitating pain. Hands rose, threading through his own sweat-dampened hair at the scalp to push back while Ares took hold of his hips. Rough and sure to leave a temporary mark, the death god could only roll his body in time to the snapping thrusts that hit against him, leaving delicious pleasure in its wake.

Hands reached out to Ares and he complied, leaning forward to cover Thanatos’ mouth with his own. His momentum only stuttered once, but as the kiss deepened, he was right back on track and swallowing every one of the death god’s moans. As a result, breathing for the both of them proved uncomfortably difficult in this position. Thus, Thanatos was the first to break with a desperate gasp, but that only left Ares to cover other bits of flesh with his mouth. As the death god’s golden neck guard was in the way, Ares contented himself with Thanatos’ jawline and the back of his ear to taste the ichor and salt of fragrant flesh. All spots that left the god trembling beneath him the longer he went on and, as his hand dipped below to wrap deft fingers around him, Thanatos was brought over the edge in quick successions.

Quaking as the death god was, Ares was not finished with him as he straightened out his back and resumed his position of gripping hips hard and driving into the other. But perhaps it was fortunate for Thanatos that Ares was not too far behind. Painted by his own filth, body far too sensitive to the cool night air that came in among the heat of the flame beside them, Thanatos’ eyes rolled to the back of his head and hands gripped hard against the bench that creaked under their shared weight. To hold two gods in such an act, praise be to the craftsman for not making a piece of furniture that would break upon similar duress. Even as Ares hit his climax and slammed inside of Thanatos with a deep exhale, the death god sighed out in shaky tandem with lifted legs that had eventually sagged in the war god’s grip.

The high was ridden out with a couple more thrusts before Ares planted both hands on the cushion of the bench to pull out of the other. Taking a moment to catch himself enough to form words in a dry mouth, Thanatos’ limbs were still shaking modestly, eyes closed and hands tangling through hair while his chest heaved. The crisp breeze that came in through from the outside felt divine upon sweating, overheated bodies, but it was only a faint relief. Ares chuckled then, causing Thanatos to peak up at him with a confused quirk of a brow.

“Perhaps not the best thing to do when regaining strength,” Ares admitted in jest, sitting back upon the bench between Thanatos’ limp legs that flopped down to the floor. Though a reaction to which he noticed as normal to the aftereffects of coupling, he still deigned to point it out. “I would make for a terrible nurse.”

It was then that Thanatos let out a breathless laugh as his hand covered his eyes to wipe away golden-tinged sweat from his brow. “Would that I had the stamina of a war god,” he repeated in amusement, giving a toothy grin with his words. “Then there would have been no need for such concern.”

“Jealously is unbecoming in one such as you.” Sarcasm evident, Ares gave a small click of his tongue at the back of his teeth as he reached down to take up his exomis. Pulling the leather cord from it, he used the fabric to clean what mess he could from the death god’s form. But, with the cord itself, he had an idea spark within his mind as he witnessed Thanatos flick away hair from his face once more. “Sit up,” he ordered softly, and Thanatos did with a questioning frown. Scooting closer, Ares gathered Thanatos’ soft, silver hair up and tied it off with the leather cord like he had done to Aphrodite’s own floor-length silky hair upon many an occasion. Sweat would only make the strands heavier, and according to her, it was quite uncomfortable after a particularly hard labor—no doubt it would be the same for Thanatos.

Yet, Thanatos was surprised by the act. Unsuspecting of any sort of care aside from the typical clean up. “Thank you,” he murmured, reticent apparently, despite all they had done tonight which made for a more amusing sight. However, Ares answered him with another kiss that took away what breath Thanatos had regained during their short respite. The death god reciprocated, allowing for it to go slower than before with no rise to their actions as exhaustion fueled them more and more. “You make it increasingly hard to leave, did you know that?” Thanatos said quietly against Ares’ own smiling lips.

“So I have been told many times in the past,” came his reply that only earned him yet another deeply satisfying kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's very sexy of me to say this collection is going to be vignettes and then proceed not to do that... might have to rename hgjksg
> 
> the gods of olympus are a soap opera, but the war gods? they are Jackass with shots of athena looking like this:😑  
> also zag and meg are having a go at a relationship during this time so thanatos is like 'welp time to go get chained up lol'
> 
> other than that, i hope you enjoyed reading this! i feel like everyone and their mother have written about this specific event, so hopefully its not too tired out by the time of me posting my own take lmao
> 
> oh, ps. shout out to statius for his poem the thebaid for ares' house's description. it's so wild, i love it...so much so i put literally zero of it into this story besides it being in thrace, but i loved that funky roman's effort anyway.


	5. Of the Blood.

Zagreus stood with a too-big spear inside of a too-big room that echoed every time he hit the butt of the weapon against the shiny marbled floor. An act that had his father, Hades (the very Lord of the Dead, this House, and Zagreus himself) telling him to stop with a voice that echoed louder and longer. Zagreus grinned at that until the heavily bearded, stern face of his father was turned towards him and it dropped into something akin to awe, shock, and even a small hint of fear. With how far his head had to go in order to look up at Hades’ face (so much so that the back hit his nape), there was a distinct difference between them in this area. Even a child at his age could see, especially when Hades never took a knee to get closer to his height to make it easier. Thus, a sore neck was one to get used to and in this particular session, one he had to get used to quick.

“Now, you know what this is, boy?” Hades then announced, gesturing to his shining red spear. Two sharp points jutted out at the end, cresting over his father’s head as if they wanted to touch the dark-washed, ornate ceiling overhead. Bright jewels and gold accented the pole, making the light from the flickering fires hit off of it and into Zagreus’ mismatched eyes. He squinted at the imposing weapon before giving a nod of his head. “I need your words, boy.” Came Hades’ rumbled reply, hinting at how little of patience he had which was not too particularly new and surprising on this day.

“A spear,” Zagreus answered in a clear voice, chest puffed out and shoulders squared. His grip on his own spear, which was a poor excuse for one next to his father’s, tightened. He could feel the cold dull metal that curved into two blunted points at the top. It held a small resemblance to his father’s, but only in a way where what he had was a mockup to the actual finished creation. Yet if his father thought it was adequate enough to get the job done (whatever that may be, Zagreus had no clue in the moment), then he would not complain about the difference. “Can I get a cooler one?” Not complain… _much_. “I like yours.”

“No.” Quick to answer and even quicker to move on as if the question were never asked. “You may need to know how to use one, in time. So, I will show you.” The spear began to fall, and Zagreus scrambled out of the way, towards the side to be clear from the sharp blade. Hades looked amused for a second, but what lightness was given to the expression, hardened once more as his grip tightened and got into a stance that radiated a certain kind of power that one could only hope to achieve. “Do as I do.”

Zagreus hopped into action, glancing back occasionally to his father as he spread his legs: one bent at the knee while the other pushed back. Arms spread as well with his left towards the end while his right gripped the pole closer to the blades. Hades had gotten out of position in order to correct Zagreus’ stance. Legs had to be stronger, grip needed to be looser for one hand, but the other hand needed to be tighter. _Eyes forward. Back straight. No do not even look away—square yourself, boy._ Zagreus’ eyes were wide, form as still as the statues that were littered around the House. Even the thought of breathing seemed ill-advised.

A tickle came to his nose then—blasted thing wanted to sabotage everything. There was the desire to move, to mess up the stance that Hades commanded that he stayed in, but only for a second. His fingers tensed further on the pole. It would be so quick that his father would not even notice, but only if the older god could just turn away…however the cold eyes of Hades bore down upon him as if he knew what Zagreus was thinking, what he wanted— “My nose itches,” Zagreus whispered then, hoping that bringing attention to it would allow him to itch it. Scrunching up his nose, Zagreus moved his face just a bit to try to scratch it that way instead, impatient for the allowance he would never procure.

“Leave it,” Hades ordered before he continued with the lesson as if Zagreus had never spoken. “A spear is something more than just stabbing your opponent. You will need to put most of your weight on your right leg.” With that, he tapped Zagreus’ bent leg with his own spear. “This is your core. Everything you do—every move you make, will come from the power in this one leg. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Zagreus answered. When given something else to focus on, the itch had disappeared much to his unknowing delight. Instead, he kept his eyes on his right leg, the power source—or so his father said. “My leg is my core.” And yet there was confusion that still remained evident from the beginning as to what they were doing and why he had to learn this in the first place. No one else was taken aside to learn how to fight. At least, he had not seen it, but had seen many a weapon upon their persons and just thought they were there for ornamentation. What need have they to use such things? He opened his mouth to ask, but soon snapped it shut with a huff when his father began speaking. Louder, as if he knew what Zagreus wanted to do.

“There are four uses to the spear. Here,” Hades pointed towards the end, “can be used to strike your enemy. Here,” a point to the middle area between where Zagreus’ hands were positioned, “to block oncoming attacks. And here, where the blade is, has two uses: to stab and to sweep. These four are the basics to any fight when using a spear. Anything else is just stemming from these and knowing how to use this weapon will allow you to experiment and find the style that fits you the best. For now, you must do what is taught to you. Any variation must be firmly practiced until your hands are covered in blisters. Even then, readiness is often not seen, thus practicing is your only answer.”

Zagreus stared down at his spear in thought. Mouth curving down into a small frown as he did so before a thought occurred to him. This time his father did not cut him off. “There are five uses, Father,” Zagreus said in a rush. “See.” He then brought the spear right side up with the end against the floor again, but this time he leaned against it with a wide smile. “It can help you stand when you’re tired of fighting. It’s not always good to be fighting all the time, right? So, you can rest with your weapon!”

“Boy, do not make a mockery of this,” Hades’ voice was low. A warning sign to those around as they must now proceed with caution. To say their apologies, bow, and leave—or in Zagreus’ case, get back into the ready stance he was taught and stare ahead as if looking at his father would just make that explosive ire grow further. “It is important that you apply yourself to these lessons—” The grand door at the end of the hall opened and a shade with golden, curled hair bowed his head. His father looked relieved when he noticed the new addition as his spear disappeared from his hand. “And that is why you will learn from the best there is.”

Zagreus had relaxed his position as he spied the shade coming closer to them. His curiosity won out against the want to impress his father, as it so often does. Dressed in a pale green himation that clasped at his shoulder with the symbol of the House of Hades, underneath it was shining armor that made Zagreus’ eyes wide in true awe at the look of it. On his person, he carried a spear that was just as grand as his father’s own (careful in its soft coloring as if to be unsuspecting) where the tip of it came together to a deadly point. The shade then stopped before him, fist over heart, he bowed again.

“You are late, shade,” Hades noted, tone contemptuous towards the end. Where Zagreus was in wonderment at what sort of man this shade was, his father seemed the direct opposite. Dare he even think his father did not much care for this newcomer as if there had been some kind of affront to him at the very appearance despite having wanted him there. Such was somewhat common to see, Zagreus had to admit, but was no less put off by it.

“Apologies, my Lord,” the shade said as he stood up straight. His voice was softer, daring never to echo or pierce the hall with its timber. “Lord Hypnos had only just now given your request—I came over as fast as I could.” 

His father huffed before glancing over to Zagreus. “This shade will be your teacher in the art of weaponry and fighting,” he explained. “You will show him respect and listen to everything he has to teach you. If I get even one complaint from the shade on your progress, you will have to deal with me as a teacher from then on and I will only make it harder for you. Do I make myself clear, boy?”

Zagreus nodded and his father looked back at the shade. Without saying anything else, he left them to it. To Zagreus’ knowledge, paperwork and other shades looking to get assigned were piling up the longer he stayed away from them, as was always the excuse. Yet, the disappointment was hard to ignore. Dare he expect at least a day with his father? While a part of him yearned for it, another part celebrated the departure. No more harsh stares, yells, or demands. However, looking from the now closing door of the hall to the taller shade, Zagreus wondered if this one might be worse due to his own interests in keeping in line with the Lord of the House. Zagreus would not blame him otherwise. He had dealt with it before.

“Suppose we can get started now,” the shade said as he began to take off his himation and drape it across one of the padded benches that lined the walls on either side. Fit for observers, but none were permitted to enter while Zagreus was at his lessons. “What did your father teach you?” No hint of anger, nor of impatience. Instead, Zagreus was given a smiling face even when the mouth was not curved up into one. It was in the eyes that were soon brought to his level due to the shade taking a knee before him.

“Sir—”

“Achilles, lad.”

“Achilles, sir, he just taught me the four basics and how to hold the spear,” Zagreus started to say before explaining all that he remembered, even going so far as to get back into the sturdy position with the practice spear held at his waist. This granted him an inspection from the shade who nodded his head with only a couple soft orders to straighten an arm, or firm up a leg. Yet, beyond that, he needed no more than that in coaching for this area. Anything further than the stance, Zagreus would be lost on.

“A good start,” Achilles noted once satisfied with what he saw in Zagreus. “But you must always remember, before you can fight anything, that balance is key. Without it, you are as good as dead. Or, in the case of gods like yourself, you will lose and have your back be acquainted with the ground far more times than you ever wish it to be. Understand?”

“Yes, Achilles, sir.”

The shade chuckled under his breath. “Shall we begin then?”

There was an excitement in Zagreus while he was being taught. The shade had a way of making such things as fighting to be fun whereas when it was just with his father, it seemed like a chore. A want to get it right so as to not irritate the older god further. With Achilles, there was the much-needed patience when it came to teaching a child of Zagreus’ age. An age that demanded more than one would hope to think when not practiced in the art of child rearing, especially when Zagreus was quite prone to a wandering mind that asked more questions far off the topic of fighting than actually doing the exercises. Such a thing would have drove others mad, but Achilles took it in gentle stride with a plan of his own. Should Zagreus ask a question, he would answer only if he were doing what Achilles had asked of him to do.

A thrust of the spear point, Zagreus asked if Achilles knew how to spell his own name because he had only just learned how to spell his own. Achilles answered that he did. He knew how to spell his name and many others that could pop into his mind. With a sweep of the blade, Zagreus asked if he liked flowers as there were a great many flowers within Nyx’s own private quarters. Achilles had answered pleasantly that he did, very much. The flower delphinium, a purple bell-shaped beauty, was his favorite. Zagreus said he had never heard of such a thing and he would very much like to see it as he smacked the tip of the spear down upon the floor in a death-dealing blow upon his invisible opponent. Achilles smiled.

“Are you ready for another challenge, lad?” The shade then asked as he took up his own spear from the wall and twisted it within his practiced grip. Zagreus could only look on in wonder with a clear lift of his brows as he suspected what was to come next. Yet, he had to admit, there was a bit of dread to it. Achilles looked far more comfortable with the spear than he ever thought someone could. “How about a game—first to two wins.”

“Do you think I’m ready, sir?” Zagreus asked, excitement brimmed now to overtake the dread for he very much liked games. He danced to get back into first position with his spear held at his waist, ready despite the question asked. “Oh, I hope I am. I would like to win something. Are there any prizes to winning?”

“No one is ever ready when fighting their first opponent. If they say they are, take them for a liar and a braggart.” A good-natured wink was given, and Zagreus giggled in response to such a thing. “As for a prize, you may ask of me whatever you like for five minutes without doing exercises.” And that received a cheer from Zagreus. “Now, come at me with all you have learned, lad. You might be surprised at what a godling like yourself can do with little practice.”

Zagreus nodded and steeled himself as Achilles took his place opposite of him just a couple paces away. Not too far though. Should Achilles stretch his spear out, he could easily have gotten Zagreus with the blade, but it was all a part of the practice as Zagreus was meant to start the rhythm of the fight for Achilles to follow. Thus, he lunged, and Achilles stepped back with deft feet that rarely sounded upon the floor. Zagreus, on the other hand, was far more clumsy and often caught himself with stomps of his singed feet that echoed within the hall, not at all swift-footed like his mentor. Yet in that dance of fighting steps, Zagreus was able to find his footing with only minor coaching from Achilles as they moved.

A step, a thrust, and then a sweep. Achilles parried, dodged, and blocked, but rarely went upon the offensive. Zagreus tried his hardest to hit the shade’s own spear away to announce him as the victor, but Achilles danced out of the way with such ease that it would have angered Zagreus were it not for the calm voice reminding him to steady himself, to calm the nerves, to focus on the target—the frustration glided away in the want to succeed. Not only that, but the want to make the shade proud. To exceed all expectations.

“Be ready,” Achilles warned. “Remember, block what you cannot parry.”

With a nod from Zagreus, he had only a second to prepare before the blade of the shade’s spear came a hair’s breadth from his chest. He jumped and skidded out of the way, trying to find his footing again, but it was harder this time with a flurry of jabs and sweeps coming from Achilles’ practiced hand. Nothing ever touched him. There was always an amount of control that Zagreus could only hope to achieve one day that pulled the spear back in time before it ever grazed divine flesh. However, it took Zagreus longer to come into his own while on the defensive, he finally managed after a couple heart pounding seconds of the shade’s deadly attacks. He was soon parrying what he could and blocking what he could not.

“Faster. You need only half a second to decide on where you want to go,” Achilles coached then as he reared up on one foot and swung his spear. Zagreus slid under and popped up to attempt a death-dealing blow, but Achilles was back on both feet to push him back. But not without a smile that made Zagreus delighted despite the failure. “Better. Try again.”

Zagreus grinned, shifting back and forth between his feet before lunging forward again. Achilles made for a jab and Zagreus wanted to try to trick the shade into thinking that he was to go one way, when really, he was to go another. A plan that had worked for only a minute before a sharp pain crested along his arm and bloomed. Achilles’ spear clattered to the ground first and a look of wide-eyed shock overcame him before Zagreus ever noticed the angry slash upon his flesh that painted his bare arm a brilliant red. In his want to trick, he had grazed the blade that had been in the process of pulling back.

“Apologies, lad,” Achilles said in a rush as he came to Zagreus, quick to wrap his hand tightly around his arm to cover the wound. Zagreus marveled at how big it was compared, wrapping fully until fingers touched as he was pulled away to the side of the hall. It was there that Achilles ripped a strip from his himation and wrapped it tightly around Zagreus’ arm. The red was not done bubbling up; thus, it stained the soft green of the fabric that he loved so much. “Why is it red?” A whisper from the shade that jarred the boy out of his thoughts. Perhaps not meant for Zagreus, but he heard it anyway as he stared down at his wound with a different thought in mind.

It was then that, when the excitement had diminished, the pain rose and made itself known to Zagreus. Tears crested and spilled down his cheeks. “It’s fine, sir,” Zagreus said. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine. My father won’t be mad. Like you said, gods don’t die, right?”

“Yes, well—” Achilles said before huffing a quiet laugh even though mirth was not found to be on his face. “Forgive me. I did not wish to hurt you. Let alone during the first training session.” A hand came up and wiped tears from Zagreus’ face. It was the clean one with none of the red liquid upon it like the other hand as it held on tight to his arm as if it were the bandage instead. “You will survive, yes. And tears will let out all the pain. Does it hurt much?”

“It does,” Zagreus nodded. The pain roared into him harder than any parchment cut or stubbed toe he had ever had in his life and with Achilles’ quick attentions, he thought it might even be worse than imagined. A choked sob burst out of him. To say he had never experienced something like this would be quite the understatement. Little did he know that he would soon grow used to this kind of pain and find there are, really, far more worse than this one. “It really does, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll be better next time.”

Achilles stared at him in something Zagreus could call shock before it morphed into a sad smile. “Nothing to be sorry about, lad. Let us see to your wound then, hm? Once we have that little break, we can try again if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much, sir,” Zagreus said through his tears and it took all that he had in him to not to cling to the shade when he was lifted and carried out of the hall. The pain was still thumping through him, but it zeroed in on where the cut was placed upon his arm. Yet while it began to numb with Achilles’ tight grip around it, the shock of the whole situation was what really made the tears come down and the little sniffles that turned into hiccups jolted his tiny frame as he tried, and failed, to stop it all.

The training was far too fun to stop due to a cut. Zagreus felt the weight of it being his fault despite what Achilles had told him—had assured him it was not so. Of course, he knew they could continue after, the pause even for a minute dampened his mood further. And on top of those thoughts, the words of his father came back, where if there were a complaint against him, Achilles would be gone, and the fun would surely be lost forever. He wanted to avoid that and, he had a feeling, even Achilles was thinking the same thing as they strode through the House and aimed for the quarters of Mother Nyx.

However, there was no going around Hades and his too-big desk in the middle of the House without the Lord himself noticing. Which was exactly what he did. A clear of his throat and eyes peered out over to them, questioning and seemingly annoyed that they were even seen. There was a guess that Hades did not expect to see them until much later in the day. With that, Achilles stopped short even though Zagreus could feel the tension that the shade would very much not have liked to do so. Eyes, even not from Hades, were upon them as certainly the bright red upon Zagreus received quite a buzz despite the boy’s growing confusion about it all. Was blood not always red?

“What is the meaning of all this?” Hades asked, setting down his quill and looked as if he was about to get up. That was the very last thing they both wanted as it boded an ill omen. “I will not have you both disturb this House in such a manner.”

Achilles took a deep breath, “My Lord, I—”

“It was an accident, Father,” Zagreus interrupted with a sniffle. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I cut myself on my spear when I was trying to swing it overhead. I dropped it. Butterfingers, you see.” Fingers wiggled up at his father as if to emphasize his point despite nothing being on them. “Achilles cautioned me, but well…”

Hades narrowed his eyes just enough. “You’re being far too soft on him, shade,” he then said. “He can very well walk to Nyx on his own.” Eyes turned back to his stack of parchment on the desk, quill taken up, and the signs of a sure dismissal were seen.

“Right. Yes. Of course,” Achilles spoke under his breath before setting Zagreus down, hand pulled from its grip around his arm. It came away bright red and the shade looked at it with an expression of concern that Zagreus did not like.

“I’ll come back, and I’ll be more careful next time,” Zagreus said to Achilles, glancing at his father for a second before smiling with a wink at the shade. His hand came up to clasp his arm that barely hurt now before setting off towards the back quarters where Nyx’s apartments lay. But he did not hurry. Instead, once he turned the corner his walk slowed to a crawl, and then to a stop, the moment he heard Achilles’ voice rise again.

“My Lord, may I ask about this,” Achilles started and there was a rustling from where his father sat. The quill no doubt had been dropped a second time, thus there was a sigh that also sounded on behalf of it.

“What about it?” Hades grumbled in reply.

“It’s red, my Lord.”

“Blood is most often red, shade.”

“Yes, but—my Lord, if you may permit me to be so bold, but I have seen gods bleed. I have seen their very blood drip upon the ground and steam as if it truly were molten gold running through their veins. This…this is not that. This is red. It is blood that I have known and seen far more often than I would have liked in my life.”

Zagreus pulled his hand away and looked down at the red liquid. His wound was closing on its own, faster than he expected, but his flesh was still stained with the blood. It seemed to grow the more he stared, unblinkingly so. Was it true of what Achilles said? He had never seen the gold that the shade spoke of, but then again, this was the first time he had ever seen anyone bleed before. Would Thanatos come away red, too? What of Megaera, or Hypnos? Would Mother Nyx be golden? What of his own father?

“None of this is your concern, shade,” Hades boomed, forceful. He would allow no more upon this subject, which made it Zagreus’ cue to leave as well. Still, his father’s voice, loud as it was, trailed after him. “You are not to worry about the state of my son. The only thing you are to do is to see to his training. If you cannot handle that simple task, then I will gladly see your contract as void.”

“No!” Achilles remarked. “No. That will not be necessary, my Lord.”

“Good. Now get back to your duty. The boy will not be long.”

Zagreus chanced a glance over his shoulder before finally shouldering into the back rooms of the House. The thought of blood still upon his mind, worryingly so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (achilles voice) oh patroclus we're really in it now
> 
> there is a pre-run quote from hades that inspired this and i could not, for the life of me, find it to the point where i feel like i dreamed it or something hgkjdsg it basically sounded like the context where hades introduced the spear and then achilles to zag first, so i went with that 
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed it! if u haven't noticed...i may have a slight weakness for gruff men being nice to children lmao


	6. Cadmus, Founder King of Thebes.

**I.**

“Mortals,” Harmonia had said once with a smile lighting up her face. A hidden joke behind her brilliant, golden-brown eyes that landed upon her father and mother both within the immeasurable gardens of Olympus. High above the clouds, where no rain or snow touched them only the bright rays of Helios’ flaming chariot, the plants and flowers were abundant in their blessings. To live so beautifully with the gods as their caretakers, they bloom for their divine eyes only, preening to their delighted coos.

“Silly little creatures,” Aphrodite hummed in answer, lithe fingers massaging the back of the war god’s scalp who sat beside her, paying most of his attention to what was in front of him: Deimos and Phobos sparring across the verdant field of grass that extended all the way towards the steep drop off of the mountain. However, the goddess of love and beauty continued, voice like a sweet song that pleased the ear, which bade her daughter to come sit by her side. “I do so love how they live; I must admit. So simple and full of passion, I could watch them for years and never get bored.”

“What about them?” Ares asked then, finally taking his eyes away from his sons to land upon his daughter, calm and content. Beautiful as she was, hair like spun silver, soft pink at the roots and curled tight in a complex knot atop her head. She was the very mixture of her parents— _the very best of them was nestled within Harmonia_ , as Aphrodite liked to say in whispered words at the dead of night where no other child could hear. Their youngest, their pride, the very child who was created out of a deed many had deemed as wrong at the time. But how could it be so when the very goddess of peace and marital harmony was conceived from it?

“I have met one,” Harmonia said as if she were waiting for this exact chance to tell them. Such news that only made both gods pause and stare at her in caution, remembering how little they spoke of mortals to this particular child. But none said a word. Harmonia took the silence as if nothing were amiss, dazed in this memory of hers. Her very own parents have often flirted with the mortals themselves, why would it be wrong of her to do so as well? Thus, with a song in her voice much like her mother’s, she regaled her devoted audience: “He is quite handsome with freckles upon his cheeks like the stars themselves kissed him when he was born. Strong, witty, honorable…I believe you both would like him very much. Especially since he is also a rather skilled fighter.” The last sentence was directed towards Ares, to which the war god snorted as he looked away. “And his tongue is like honey, he speaks such beautiful things to me that I have never thought possible. It is as if my Brother, Eros, had gifted him the skill.”

Aphrodite sighed in pleasure before she clapped her hands together, excitement plainly written upon her face as her bright pink eyes flashed. “Oh, you’re in love, are you not, my darling? I can see it in your smile. It is a look I can never forget. Always the same in everyone, no matter who they are.” Her index finger dragged alongside Ares’ temple, making the god unconsciously lean towards her touch. “Yours reminds me of your father’s many moons ago. And then the first mortal I loved. He was so kind—”

“And dead,” Ares said, and Aphrodite clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth giving a small ‘ _hush_ ’ in response to him. Still, a grimace did grace Ares’ face. “Keep your distance, at any rate,” he cautioned his daughter. “You may have your fun with this mortal of yours, but do not give him your whole heart. They die far too easily and betray you easier than that.” The smile upon Harmonia’s face fell and Ares’ grimace softened. “I do not wish to lie to you about this, dear heart. You must hear the hard truths of their kind one way or another. They are not always the peaceful lot you take them to be.”

“Not everything is so bleak, Father. Plus, the same could be said about our kind. How many mortals have the gods loved and then betrayed?” Harmonia challenged with a frown marring her features, fingers delicately wringing together on her lap. “His name is Cadmus, and he is noble-hearted no matter what you have to say about him or his ilk. He had been dealt a hardship of an abducted sister, so he seeks her out no matter the cost to him. Family means everything to him, is that not an admirable quality and yet you lash him with your words even if you do not know him.”

A knife the length of a forearm flashed in Ares’ hand, to which he extended it past Aphrodite and out towards Harmonia to take. Fingers pinched the blade; the glittering hilt faced his divine daughter. However, she did not take it, she only looked at him and the weapon both as if insulted by the mere presence of the latter. Ares thus explained further, “Fight one of your Brothers and, should you win, I will speak only praises of this mortal of yours. I might even sing out my love for him.”

“I’ll volunteer, Father!” Yelled out Deimos with a raised hand as Phobos cracked into loud peals of laughter that had their divine mother huff out in irritation as she pushed Ares’ arm down. “No one is fighting your sister!” She remarked to the disappointed groans of the twins. Then, with a side demand towards Ares who grinned in amusement, “And you, do not be such a brute to your child.” Finally, she looked at Harmonia with a look that spoke volumes about how taxing it could be to deal with war gods before speaking in a calmer voice that desired to reassure her daughter most of all. “What this _pomp_ of your Father’s means is that he wishes you the best, as do I, in your pursuit of this Cadmus of yours.”

Ares muttered under his breath, knife disappearing from his grasp, “ _Pomp_. Was merely a jest—”

Aphrodite was quick to cover her consort’s mouth with her sun-kissed hand, scented of the very sea she was birthed from. Harmonia looked between them and could not help the amusement that colored her features then. A child of Ares knew well enough that some things need not be dwelt upon any further than a second. “You know how your Father worries. Last time one of your siblings fell in love with a mortal, it was an entire ordeal. My head still aches whenever I think of it.”

“Because of you—” Ares’ muffled protests sounded that only made Aphrodite’s fingers clamp tighter, pressing down harder upon his mouth until his deep-brown cheeks dented with the pressure. Despite all her efforts, the war god held mirth in his red eyes as if he were on the very verge of raucous laughter.

“ _Since then_ ,” Aphrodite continued, with a touch of irritation to her voice. “None of your siblings had any interest. Then again, I doubt any of them ever cared no matter if Eros found love in Psyche or not. Can you see Deimos or Phobos, or even Anteros loving a mortal? I do not think so. Himeros, you can forget about him, and Pothos?” She laughed. “Ah, but you, my darling, are special. A mortal caught your eye and I only say this as one goddess to another, patience is always key. We, your _Father_ and I, will not get in your way, but do not be foolish. I know you to be intelligent, let not a man, mortal or otherwise, make you forget that.”

Harmonia’s face had lit up, her wide smile curving her lips further up as pure happiness came into her golden-brown eyes at the acceptance of her divine parents. Ares had remembered that moment well. No anger was ever held onto for too long, especially when it was directed at those within her immediate family. She knew what they were like. It was her very essence to seek the peace even amongst the chaos that reigned around war and love gods equally. How brash, and how loud, they could get at any given time. She was peace after all. She forgave them easily, and even joined them on occasion despite understandable reservations set within her. Yet every god had their limits and Ares stared eye-to-eye with the breaking of Harmonia’s as she glared at him at the end of his pointed sword.

Furious was her stare, challenging her Lord Father with the likes that Ares had never seen before upon his daughter’s glorious face. Her arms were outstretched to the sides, resolute was her stance, as she safeguarded a mortal who stood behind her away from her father’s justified wrath and godly pain. Were the sword in any hand less skilled than the war god’s, Harmonia’s flesh would have been pierced, and Ares doubted that she would have flinched at the act of betrayal from her own sire. So staunch was she, her jaw clenched, and her lips pressed into a thin line, daring Ares to even think about shoving her aside to get to the mortal who was at the very root of this altercation.

It was a passing thought after all, and Harmonia knew it. She was no fool to how her father acted in a rage, especially at the behest of a wronged child. “Don’t you dare,” she stated, firm yet her voice shook with the fury that built up behind her molten eyes. “Kill him and I will follow without a second thought right to the lowly banks of Styx.”

Ares gasped for breath that was a weak substitute for the rage-filled yell which desired to be let out the moment she appeared before him. His sword disappeared, eyes never leaving Harmonia’s irate gaze. Her anger clearly shown, but what of him? What of his pain? He glanced away with a flinch, towards the sacred drakon—his child…his _daughter_. Hands began to shake again. Fury came in waves and his burning eyes landed upon the mortal who wrought this fate, standing behind the goddess that held his heart and who had the sense to recoil at the piercing gaze of the war god that delighted in the bloodshed of mortals. This… _Cadmus_. He was no coward, but he was also aware of the gods. Smart, but Ares found only the taste of bile upon his tongue to go with the mortal’s name and person.

 _And to be the one that Harmonia found love in!_ The insults piled on and the rage continued to build, ever filling the well deep within the war god.

“He—” Ares did not trust himself to speak yet, as even that solitary word shook with betrayal. He took another step away from the couple. His hand on his hip, the other rubbing his face, he made his way towards the corpse of his other child. Beautiful, the drakon was, with brilliant green and blue scales that shimmered even now in death underneath the rays of Helios’ flaming chariot. A proud young creature, who found a happiness under the care and praises of the naiad nymphs that shared the spring with her joyously so. But her corpse was not fully intact. Her teeth, pulled out, and buried to make the warriors who watched on. And for what? What was the point of this slaughter and mutilation?

Falling to his knees, Ares bowed his head in reverence as he took the large snout of the drakon and placed it upon his lap. He had delt with many dead children in the past. All mortal, all bound to die one day or another, but never did he think he would have to mourn Ismenia so soon. His hand smoothed down her scales at the jaw before closing the jeweled eyes, fierce in life, now were nothing but empty vessels with nothing behind them any longer. Emotion welled up inside of him, making his own eyes burn; mourning took its hold upon him with its swift clutches. He could never quite get used to this moment, just like when each child was born where the love was renewed day after day, pain now renewed itself as if this were his first child to have ever met the end of a blade in a death-dealing blow.

“Even if you dismiss your _other_ child’s pleas for mercy,” Athena’s voice sounded nearby— _of course_ she had her hand in this. Cold, unfeeling, she cared naught but her own duty, however she chose her words wise enough to make them into knives that drove into his heart over and over. The distaste evident, it became the salt upon the wounds. There was never any love between the two, why would there be now? “You cannot kill Cadmus. This was fate and what the Fates will, it comes to be, Brother. Dare I even invoke the name of our Father to truly get you to back down from acting too rash? I am sure he would not be too pleased in having to come down here himself.”

“I have always wondered what he would do should I push him too far,” Ares mused in a quiet voice as he rested a heavy hand upon the top of his drakon’s head. “However, I am not one to spurn the Fates if this is truly their wish for this mortal. Lest you worry.” He lifted his head to look over at Athena in her shining splendor. Her deep-brown face as impassive as her voice. They looked far too much alike that it made Ares wonder if half of her hatred was purely stemmed from that alone. Though her pinched brow and air of disappointment reminded him too much of Zeus, which was where plenty of his hatred for her stemmed from. “Though to target my children in their quests for this would-be hero… I am beginning to think they hold a personal issue with me.”

Athena sighed at his attempt at a light joke as it was filled with contempt that spat out each word, but instead made her answer into that of a stark truth: “Perhaps if you stopped making _beasts_ , they would not be targeted by these would-be heroes who kill them. Not every being who can make an offspring and smiles at you is for your seed. Though you are hardly the only one, so I do not know why I even bother half the time to say such.”

No. He was not the only one, that much was true, even if many of the other gods liked to act as if it were only him. So, Ares laughed. A sad little laugh with a solemn shake of his head. Quick were his actions after that. A sword flashed back within his hand and his laugh crested into the rage-filled yell that finally ripped free from his throat, thankful for the outlet it did not have until now. Athena backed up, but her defenses were just as quick. She blocked each hard swing that battered upon her glimmering spear. Ares was pure, raw emotion, while Athena was cold, calculated concentration, predicting the unpredictable of her brother. A sight to behold for any mortal to witness as two powerful beings clashed against each other, loud as thunder within a blur of the divine mist that always surrounded them upon earth.

There was no dance, no twists, nothing of the sort that fighters often do upon the field of battle. Instead, Ares kept swinging, blow after incensed blow, of his sword down upon the metal of Athena’s spear. Sparks popped and sizzled, but as Ares’ sword was durable enough to cut through anything, Athena’s spear was durable enough to be that exception. Such was their way. With faces twisted in rage and irritation, the only one who was able to break them apart was their very own divine father who had quite enough of this spectacle.

A loud crack sounded, and lightning shot forth in between the two war gods, breaking their violent strides. Ares jumped back, Athena twisted out of the way and what was left in their wake was the burnt ground where Zeus shot his bolt. Breathless, the gods looked at each other, but it was Athena who righted herself quickly. Tucking her spear back, she stood up straight, and held her head up high as if nothing had transpired. Even still, her glare was fixed upon Ares and the war god grinned in response, much like a predator to its prey. Twirling his sword in hand, he stalked forward, and the skies rumbled above him in warning. A caution that the next bolt would be aimed at him. But it was ironic to Ares, as many of the decisions of his fellow Olympians usually were—this was important enough for Zeus to get involved, but not to leave the mountain.

Taking a step back now, his back straightened and his sword disappeared from his hand. It was only when he held up his hands to the sky did the clouds overhead begin to part and the threat cleared. He had not missed that Athena did not need to do the same, but if he listed every single time where Athena or another god got away with something he had also done, he would no longer be the god of war—he would be the god of petty lists and last he remembered, Hypnos oversaw that one. Thus, he dropped his hands in a huff and his eyes remained on the war goddess. Yet, it was she who spoke first as if she was intent on making his barely hanging on patience snap again.

“Are you quite finished with acting like a fool?” A rhetorical question that had Ares blinking once at the audacity of it. Not unlike her, but sometimes she managed to surprise even him. “Act like a god, Brother, with dignity I wished you had more of.”

“Rich,” Ares said, voice dry. “If you had a care for anyone other than yourself, perhaps I would take your advice into consideration. But as far as I can see, the only one looking out for my children is me, so I do what I must.” A remark that was punctuated by glancing at Harmonia and her mortal, who flinched back as if expecting more than just words from him. “He has no need of you any longer. The way this goes, he is mine to do with what I wish. Even _you_ must abide by that, _Sister_.”

“What are you to do—” Harmonia interjected, and Ares silenced her with a quick gesture of a raised finger jabbing up.

“Except kill him, of course,” Athena said without reacting to the younger goddess. She sounded more bored and unphased than before, grey eyes dull now as her painted lips pulled themselves into a frown. “Dare I trust you to make sure of that? He is destined to build a city here. The mortals of this area are in great need of it.”

 _A city._ Ares felt his shoulders getting heavier. His child died for a _city_. Was she so much in the way that they could not just _not_ creep into these woods? It would not be the first time that mortals created a story to warn travelers and children alike to never set foot into thickets much like the one the sacred spring was placed in the middle of.

“Thebes,” came the mortal’s voice, quiet before courage allowed him to speak up. “It is to be called Thebes, my Lord. I had already started—with the shrine to the goddess Selene. But all of my men were attacked by your…drakon.”

A sword flashed in Ares’ hand. Fates be damned, this mortal’s words tempted him to see just how red his blood would look decorating the rich, green grass their feet pressed down upon. Harmonia placed herself in front of Cadmus again and Athena’s spear hand tensed.

“They trespassed!” Cadmus corrected himself quickly. “And they got themselves killed. I did not know it was sacred to you, my Lord. However, a city needs to be built and a drakon may not be the best neighbor for it…if I may be so bold.”

“You may not and if you wish to keep your tongue, I suggest you close your mouth.” Ares swung the sword to point at Cadmus now from across the way. In the attack against Athena, the pair had moved further away lest they were caught within the violence. “I have only been told you cannot die _yet_ —there are ways around that, to which I know them well.”

“Father…” Harmonia whispered, desperate for peace. With the passing of anger, she looked far more afraid than anything in this moment. Her shimmering peplos clutched in strained hands, there was a plea painted on her lips that she wished to speak, but knowing her father well, such words were left there to remain unsaid.

Ares ignored her still as he looked to see if Athena was around, but the spot she had stood was now empty and it was a beautiful sight to behold. He must have said something to satisfy her doubts. Twisting his head, he cracked his neck with a clear _pop_ before finally giving his full attention to the two lovers and their gathering of Spartoi warriors. Best to start now. “Get over here,” he said to Cadmus, but when Harmonia began to move, he held up his hand for her to stop. “Not you. Just him.”

Cadmus was hesitant as he strode forward, but sure enough the warrior inside of him received enough courage to make the rest of the way over to the war god with steadier footing. Flighty as courage often was, it was taken away instantly when the true god of fear gripped the back of Cadmus’ neck and, rather roughly, turned him in the direction of the drakon’s corpse. Cadmus’ shoulders hunched in pain and Ares’ fingers dug further into his bronzed flesh, dimpling it in the process. The smell of his daughter’s blood drenched his hands and Ares shook the mortal to force him to keep his eyes onto his bloody work.

“You took something very important away from me.” Ares seethed close to the mortal’s face, allowing no one but the man to hear him. With only just the slightest flex of his hand, he could break Cadmus’ neck and be done with it. It would be so easy…to throw the mortal’s body upon his daughter’s pyre to satiate her shade… His voice came out once more, strained against the fury, “And you will make up for it with your life one way or another until I am satisfied her slaughter had not been in vain. Am I clear?”

Cadmus swallowed hard, head unable to move to nod much as the mortal seemed to want to, he had to use his words that held no ounce of courage left. “I understand, Lord Ares.” He licked his lips, pulse quickening underneath Ares’ clenched thumb. “What…what will you have me do?”

“You will make a pyre for the one you slew,” Ares then ordered, pushing Cadmus away from him, making the mortal trip over his feet. To his pride, Cadmus did not fall and was able to right himself with a gasp of breath and a hand raising to rub his neck at the marks left on it by the god. Ares then gestured to the corpse. “The fire cannot be extinguished until after forty days. Only then, I want her to be nothing but ash and bone.”

“She—” Cadmus looked at the drakon again. Large was she in form, far bigger than any mortal Cadmus perhaps had to watch burn in his time. Even then those fires were large with a great many logs of wood piled underneath the bodies in order to actually bring them down to ash. “I—my Lord…that will take—”

“A while? Yes, I am sure it will. It is something I am counting on,” Ares said before an ironic laugh erupted forth from him. “And would you look at that? We are among trees! I suggest you start now before it gets too dark and you will have to explain to the naiads of this spring why you are cutting down their trees around the dead body of their protector.”

Cadmus stared at him, mouth ajar before snapping it shut. Fear remained in his eyes and it was the only emotion Ares ever wanted to see now within them. “Yes…okay…wood. Wood.” With a rush, the mortal got to work. “Ax, I will need to get one—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Ares said, each word filled with loathing. “Cut the damn trees with your sword for all I care.”

Cadmus nodded and left, running now to do as was demanded. It was then that Ares noted Harmonia moving closer to him, but still at an arm’s length as she looked upon her father. The very father whose anger had fallen to wretched sadness once more as he looked back upon the drakon who was already being overtaken by the insects. Laying a hand on the scales, he blessed the corpse to not be harmed further. His heart still ached within his chest. Anger was just a safety net, a cover to protect himself with. Yet now, there was no point for it. What was done, was done. Sadness was his only answer. He wished to be alone with it, but that was asking the impossible at this point.

“Father?” Harmonia said, soft in voice, cautious as she were. But when his eyes slid to the side, taking her in, she continued, “I am so sorry. Truly. I never would have condoned this if I knew what he was doing. I, too, feel a loss and it is for a sibling I did not know too well, but my heart still aches for her and for you.”

“For your sake, dear heart, I do hope this mortal is worth it for you,” Ares stated, voice rough with emotion. “Heroes of Hellas will never be fit for a simple life that you may have had in mind. They will be nothing but bloodshed and woe where often the ones they love the most, are the ones who become the victims of their actions. He is the first among many…and I do not see happiness in the future.”

Harmonia frowned, twisting the end of her ribbon that was wrapped around her peplos. Her eyes followed the path of the spring, to the drakon, and then to where Cadmus had once stood. Staying still, eyes unblinking, pensive of what had been done, said, and what will come to pass. After a while, she nodded. “What the Fates may bring to me, I will gladly accept it all.” She turned to Ares then, firm resolution in her golden-brown eyes. “I love him, Father.” Yet when Ares looked away from her again, a calm annoyance overcame her. “I thought you, of all the gods, would understand my choice.”

“Perhaps if he were a god, I would not care so much as I do now. Eros was the same for Psyche when she was but a mortal herself,” Ares began to explain. “I thought him a fool, but your mother saw to it, making sure that this mortal of a woman would be right for your brother. Now, seeing as you have your heart set on this one, I will see to it if this mortal is right for you. As much as I dislike the whole thing, but he must also do his penance for this disrespect no matter who’s favor he’s in.”

“Oh, Father,” she cooed before coming closer to wrap her arms about his waist. Laying her head upon his chest covered by the hard-plated, shining armor, she smiled. “I know that it is not complete acceptance from you, but I do appreciate the effort you will make towards him.” Ares grunted in response and Harmonia’s hold tightened. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

“And your Mother—”

It was quick, the change Harmonia went through as she pushed away from him. It almost made him amused at the sight of her nervousness about the prospect of Aphrodite catching wind. No one would jump at the chance at the job of potentially ruining the older goddess’ day with something like this. Never was she one to outright harm her children, the same could not be said about her to anyone else despite their apparent connections. “Can you…perhaps tell her?”

Ares took a deep breath before sighing it out with the word, “Fine.” He was weak to his children’s wants and his mind pulled him in varying directions. “As long as you are aware that I have no control over where she goes after I tell her… _or_ how she reacts.”

“Yes…but you can say it in a nice way. Can’t you, Father?”

Ares grimaced. Cadmus appeared then, ax in hand and the five Spartoi following close behind him. None of those five sown warriors ever made a sound, but they did watch Ares with the same caution as was necessary. The mortal stopped before Ares then and, with a gesture of his hand wielding the ax, he smiled as if that would lessen the god’s feelings about him. “Thought they could help the work go faster…if that is all right with you, my Lord?” Smile faltered, second guessing himself. Even further the longer Ares stared at him without an answer, face deadpanned with a furrow of his brows.

He was handsome as Harmonia said he was, with his mop of curled dark hair and equally dark freckles dusted across his brown skin, but he was also quite capable. One would have to be if they were to build a city, of course, but Ares could see the appeal from the eyes of a god. Thus, he waved the man away to continue his work, uncaring that Cadmus would have help after all. The gesture was enough to further please his daughter who clasped her hands in front of her, content in the outcome with her soft smile holding fast to her features. Even her eyes kept to the mortal’s back until he disappeared through the trees. It truly was love that Ares saw within his daughter’s eyes.

_So be it._

“Plus,” Harmonia said in a quiet voice, attention back upon Ares. “He will make up for the wrong he has done to you. He is a good man; I promise you that.”

The war god gave another grunt in response that doubled as a dismissal. Harmonia was quick to press a kiss to his cheek before vanishing, off to Olympus where she would, undoubtedly, be questioned ruthlessly by her brothers, the Erotes. Her own personal punishment for making this into a bigger headache than it should have been. Aphrodite was right all along: the ache was not one to be forgotten.

**II.**

Aphrodite’s palace was in a world of its own where the most sumptuous pleasures could be found around every corner. The first time that Ares had entered on the behest of the goddess herself many centuries ago, he was overwhelmed going through room after room of what he could only recall as indulgences tempting the mind to never leave. How so much good could come from one place, relaxing tensions and muscles equally, Ares felt like it was a new heaven for only those on good standing with Aphrodite. And perhaps it was. She was a goddess that even Zeus, himself, feared upon occasion. Her power unprecedented and exciting all the same, Ares found a pleasant spot within her heart where no one else could uproot him from.

Now, as the centuries moved on and Ares grew far closer to her than any other deity, this palace had become like a second home to him. The doors were always open, allowing him permanent entrance, temptations no longer as tempting as the goddess’ own open arms, while the attendants who danced around the gleaming floors to get whatever their mistress so desired no longer found his appearance to be a surprise. Instead, they bowed and offered delights as if he were a part of their retinue, but Ares moved past them with a dismissive wave of his hand, and they smiled sweetly all the same (some even giggled with whispered dares to the newer nymphs to touch the war god and see if he would go to their rooms instead of the very goddess he now searched for).

His first destination within the sprawling palace were Aphrodite’s rooms that stood empty of the goddess, making him wonder if he had gotten here too late and had missed her, but he proceeded on despite these thoughts. Following the sounds of laughter, he made his way to the central area of the palace where the Erotes lounged about, sans Eros, on plush cushions that sunk the occupant into the lap of comfort and let strength to get up again slip away. Aphrodite was not among them though and he was meant to leave just as quick as he had come, but three heads popped up and smiled at him.

Pink in hair, soft like their mother’s own with a halo of curls, but they had the impish smirk like their father’s stretched upon their faces of a light brown. “Father,” Anteros said just as Himeros spoke in excitement, “Are you to join us?” Bodies twisted around, arms folded on the backs of their cushions, eyes ever knowing of the love that had plagued their little family as of late. Ares was about to speak, but the words died on his tongue as another one of his sons spoke:

“To speak of our dear Sister and her… _lover_?” Pothos tittered, twisting a rose between his fingers before yanking a handful of petals off the stem. The Erotes who were not his children merely snickered at that, careful not to say anything more. Of course, they knew, how could they not? Ares frowned lightly. “Eros is with her now to coach her in the ways of mortals. And perhaps of men in general. Precious one, unknowing and lovely all the same.”

“Not exactly… Where is your Mother?” He asked and Himeros was the one to direct him towards the back of the palace where the baths lay. A quiet thanks and he left them to their night, unwilling to share his pain with his children just yet. Not while the other Erotes who he had no fondness for crowded about. Thus, to the baths he went, which were an extensive part of the palace that he dared wonder if they were larger in size. Walking through the door, the space opened to high ceilings, tall pillars, and a marbled bath the size of his own palace in Thrace. The sounds of waterfalls filled the air and the hazy steam that lifted from its crashing waters gave the room a more dreamlike quality. Oddly enough, Deimos and Phobos were conceived in here—the irony of that memory had him smiling for a second.

Yet within the sweet-smelling waters of the extensive pool the goddess called a bath, Aphrodite lounged upon stairs, her eyes closed and features slack as if in the throes of a delicate sleep. A light pink glow about the area that often overtook the senses, relaxed anyone to the point of feeling like a puddle and Ares had to fight the desire to just fall into the same water to let it do its work. The Charities, her main attendants, formed a half circle around her, rubbing scented oils into her sun-kissed skin, brushing her hair, and tending to her nails to make sure she was as how she always wanted to be presented: beautiful and perfect. Something not difficult for the goddess to accomplish, at least in his eyes. Even now as he looked upon her, his heart stuttered in his chest and his breath hitched.

The Charities noticed then, but only two out of the three smiled at him in welcome. Aglaia kept her eyes down, focused on making sure not one strand of Aphrodite’s long hair was forgotten about. A task that did not need that much attention, he was sure, yet he was somehow not surprised by her reaction. Her new husband alone had perhaps said enough for her to decide whether to grace Ares with even a glance. Ares did, supposedly, ruin the other god with his actions and the situation would have made him laugh were it any other day. But now he thought it childish and elected to ignore it all the same.

“Aphrodite,” he said, quiet and barely above a whisper, but it was enough to wake the goddess. Eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him, dislodging herself from her attendants to stand from her seated position. Water pooled around her hips, a hand reached out for Ares, beckoning with an invitation to join her in her brilliant, bright pink eyes, but Ares stayed rooted in his spot despite one of his knees bending as if his legs were to decide against him.

“My love, I was beginning to think you would not come tonight—” Voice died, seeing the wrongness in her war god’s face. The joy was soon replaced with concern, quick was she to switch into the commanding goddess by dismissing the Charities. Ares stepped out of the way to allow the three minor goddesses to retreat out of the baths, and once they were no longer within earshot, Aphrodite continued. “Come, join me,” she said, hand out again, water dripping forth from her fingers. “Tell me why you have the scent of fire and ash upon you.”

Ares toed off his sandals then and sat upon the edge, dipping his feet into the warm bath that soothed the tense muscles of his calves. He did not want to go further in, afraid he would forget everything before he had the chance to speak of all he wanted to say to her. And speak he did as Aphrodite came close, hanging off his knees with her arms folded upon his lap. She listened intently to the tale of Ares’ daughter Ismenia and the mortal who slayed her, Cadmus. The appearance of Harmonia stopping him from exacting revenge for a wronged child formed a worrying frown upon Aphrodite’s beautiful face, and it only deepened at the knowledge of Athena and Zeus also lending their aid to this particular mortal.

There was a silence that preceded Ares’ story. Aphrodite’s head tilted where her chin rested upon her forearm, eyes seeing nothing for a moment while she remained pensive. Only when she did speak, it was a quiet musing. “He is still alive…and yet under your care now. What are you to do with him?”

“Haven’t quite figured that out,” Ares answered. “Service perhaps, for now. I had him built a pyre for Ismenia and keep watch over the fire until it dies out, but after that…” He gave a small shake of his head.

Aphrodite hummed. “Even if he were able to die without the silly command of building a city, Harmonia would be quite distraught and forbid you all the same. The poor girl…” Another pause, legs slowly treading water. “For how long were you thinking?”

Ares shook his head again, unable to answer. As much as he cared for mortals, having one around him for long sounded much like a punishment for him as well. Especially one who killed his own daughter—having the thought of keeping Cadmus around after those hands of his held the blood of his child, it appalled him. But another side of him thought this outcome better. Years and years of service, becoming a torture for the slaughter, seemed apt enough. One for every year that he took away from Ismenia since he could pay for it with his own death. The war god looked down, gazing at his hands that propped the drakon up onto her pyre before the fire blazed around her body. Her scales had flickered so brilliantly, shown off one last time by the flickering flames.

Aphrodite took his silence as answer enough. “I am sure you will think of the right decision for this boy. Our Harmonia would not be so crass as to fall in love with a mortal who would disrespect her Father on purpose. I do hope you are aware of that.”

“I am.”

“Have you told as much as you have told me to Ismenia’s mother?”

“I have.” The rage of a Fury was a sight to behold, but he had not lingered within her realm and gave her the space she needed beside her sisters who mourned with her.

Aphrodite danced her fingertips across the face of the vulture upon his brilliant armor as a small sigh came through parted lips. She knew well enough of the difficulty that this type of situation posed, but there was also nothing she could do but be an ear for the god. “And now you are telling me as it concerns our Daughter.”

“I thought you should know.” A pause then. Nothing more came from her. In a way, he was relieved. To deal with the anger of a goddess alongside his own was always a tricky thing to handle. “You are taking this all quite more calmly than I or she had expected.”

The goddess chuckled, her voice like crisp bells, delighting upon the ears. “What, did you _want_ me to rage at a foolish mortal? I can do so if you wish. Perhaps we can rage together for he certainly deserves it, my love.” When he gave her a face of irritation, she laughed again as her hand cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb smoothing the warm flesh beneath his eye. “ _Ares._ I trust you enough to see this through appropriately and much to our both equal satisfactions. Like you did not interfere between me and Psyche, I will not do so here between you and Cadmus. She had wounded me as he has wounded you—it is only natural that this be your decision, and yours alone.”

Still, he was silent, and Aphrodite unbuckled one of the straps at his side that held his armor in one piece upon him, unconcerned. “But, if you wish for advice when it comes to your Daughter, then I will gladly give you such. I know she often confuses you, unlike your other daughters. But she is not difficult to figure out—she is like you more than you know, my love. Stubborn and set in her ways.” Another gentle laugh then. “Ah, but will you have my advice for what you should do now? Don’t give me that look, what I have in mind is simple to do. Come into the water, soothe your aches, and let me heal your heart.” Advice that was punctuated with the undoing of the last buckle upon his chest piece. “Your beautiful daughter, Ismenia, would have wanted the same for you. I knew her less, but I do know she loved you so dearly as do all your children, so I advise you to do that much. If not for yourself, then for them so they may see their Lord Father’s beautiful smile again.”

Persuasion her forte, Ares did not stand a chance against her nor did he want to. He stood and she backed up so as to watch him discard his armor off to the side before submerging himself within the scented waters that quickly filled his head. When he came back up and wiped eyes, Aphrodite was there to encircle her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Murmuring quite assurances with soothing touches that worked muscles to release the knots within, plump lips were soon upon his own. She tasted of the sweetest pomegranate ambrosia and, with raised hands, he took hold of her calmly until hearts were sure to be at ease once more.

*******

Helios’ flaming chariot shone brightly down upon the earth, heating up the already dry air that made flesh sweat even when doing nothing but sitting beneath its rays. Which was what Ares did, eyes closed to keep away the glare, while the bleached stone wall he stretched out upon kept his back cool. Beyond him, the sounds of hard labor were heard from Cadmus who, out of breath and perspiring even more under the heat, worked the stable of four rather irritable, yet divine, horses of the war god. A challenge as such horses did not take too kindly to strangers, or mortals for that matter. Ares was forced to remain nearby, careful to make sure no singed hoof went through paper-thin flesh, killing the boy deemed as off limits to kill by many of the gods and Fates equally.

“Where are you from?” Ares murmured out in question, but the silence that followed his words had him opening his eyes as his body propped up with hands splayed out behind him to look at the mortal who stared back at him. Baffled, as he was, sweat dripped upon his eyelashes that he blinked away. Ares found it amusing, a raise of his brows and a small quirk of his lips in response. “I asked you, where are you from? Or have you gone deaf through your work? Konabos’ whinnies are not that loud, are they?”

“Apologies, my Lord,” Cadmus said with a raised arm to wipe sweat from his forehead, his other hand resting upon the rake he held to shift through dirty hay. The horses in the neighboring stables snorted in annoyance but it was Aithon who kicked the wooden door of his confinement, making Cadmus jump and move away with swift feet. It took a moment to right himself far from the stables and closer to Ares to answer the god with a rather polite, and rehearsed, reply (although, he must hand it to the mortal for keeping said composure after handling immortal horse droppings for a good part of the day). “My family hails from Phoenicia, specifically the main city of Tyre, where my father, King Agenor, and my mother, the beautiful Queen Telephassa, reign.”

“Ah.” Ares gave one knowing nod of his head. Agenor, the son of Poseidon, and now his son had come to Hellas once and for all. He wondered then, does Lord Uncle know of this or does he not care since it was not his son, but a mere grandson of muddied relations? Ares was going to guess on the latter. Makes for it to be a bit of a surprise should he happen upon the sea god. “Thought as much—you do not look like you’re from Hellas.”

Another kick to the stable. Aithon was keen on making his displeasure known (not often were they locked up for so long), but Cadmus looked more concerned about Ares’ comment from how his dark brows furrowed. Calloused hands wrung the wooden pole of the rake even harder as he wet dry lips with his tongue. “Is that a problem, my Lord?”

“ _Is that a problem?_ ” He repeated with a bark of a laugh. “Not at all. You think I, the patron god of Thrace, would have a problem with that? Seems odd, the notion of it. Dare I say it might even be a good thing that puts a favor in your corner. I have more fondness for outsiders. If you can imagine.” Ares was a god that could be an enigma to many mortals who would never have a need for him—or really, never thought they would have need of him. For a royal son who perhaps only fought in simulated battles with his father’s guard to ‘train’ him without really hurting him, the god of warriors would never be on his mind.

Though, perhaps he was being far too unfair to the mortal who now gave him a hesitant smile before finally taking the permission to chuckle as well. Albeit little and under his breath, as it were. Shifting on his feet, he passed the rake to his other hand. “Then I guess it would not be too surprising, no. We have a temple for you in Phoenicia, if you wish to know. Though the ones who go inside it were not what I would expect at times…” Yet his voice slowly died as he realized what he was saying and who he was talking to. The wide-eyed look of a mortal knowing that they had made a mistake somewhere was all too familiar on the boy’s face. He then cleared his throat. “Never mind, it is not important—”

Gods knew their temples as well as their own palaces upon Mount Olympus, maybe even better. What Cadmus spoke of was not surprising. Ares knew the temple and the shrines across Phoenicia (few and far in between as they were), and he knew of all those who stepped foot inside to call out his name to ask for blessings or give their thanks. Raising a hand, he rested his cheek upon it as he watched Cadmus with half-lidded eyes. “Surprising because a lot who go into my temple are women?” He questioned, albeit rhetorical in nature. It was amusing, he had to admit. Crisscrossing his legs, he grinned. “Do you want to know what they pray to me about in your family’s time of prosperous peace?”

“I—uh, maybe it wouldn’t be appropriate—” Cadmus struggled. Mortals with no practice with the gods often did when faced with one. Common respect and manners for royalty may be an insult to the divine, and thus, they flounder, much like Cadmus for no guidelines could help him now. Who knows, maybe he will be turned into a flower that Ares’ horses could eat. What a wonderous tale that would be for technically, it was not death.

“For courage. For strength. You want to know why?” Ares was not one to relent. He wanted to see the boy squirm in his discomfort. The war god’s grin never left as he leaned closer to the other.

“Well, I—uh, I’m not sure—”

“Because women are often thrown to mean men and have no chance of escape. But they must continue living for their family, so strength is needed and is given without a second thought. Or they are given courage to bloody their hands with someone less deserving than a swine,” Ares explained, Cadmus shifted on his feet again as his eyes avoided the war god’s gaze. “I give them sharp knives and a clear head, only to bless them to live gloriously after. Ah, of course a wealth of prayers is to fight, be it warriors or simple, everyday soldiers. While others, which surprised me even at times, they yearn for the support of a father, be it their own absent one or a guiding touch from me.” Renewed comfort, Cadmus stared at Ares now, mouth slightly parted. Ares was not finished and with the last point, he said slower with an emphasized point. “And then the lovers pray to me for the courage to love who holds their heart no matter what separates them, be it class or a simple forced marriage.”

“Lovers.” Questions aplenty were behind those dark eyes of the boy’s, but he landed on just one to ask: “What of… What of Lady Aphrodite then? I thought she was—”

“She does most of the work, of course,” Ares said, shrugging broad shoulders, leaning back on his hands once more. Head canted to one side as he watched Cadmus go through a journey just by looking in his eyes alone. “She and her retinue give mortals the capacity to love and be loved in return, I am able to give them the courage to act on it and the ability to stand against detractors on account of this love of theirs. The divine often work together. Mortals are complex that way, which is quite the amusing thing to watch.”

“Oh…” Cadmus mused with a slow, understanding nod of his head. “That would make sense of one thing.”

“What is that?”

“The temple— _your_ temple, I have heard many women call it a temple for the god of lovers despite holding your likeness and name upon its walls.” A small laugh then. “I thought they were odd. Then again, I also thought that Eros held a shrine within since I know he is often beside you. But it’s just you and…and Apollo, I believe in that temple. So, I knew you to be war and only that—what else you give is only meant for fighters, or so my brothers have said to me once. Ares is a god for men, they proclaimed. Warriors, fighters, soldiers, so on…so forth. That is why I was surprised when I saw women go in there and to your shrine.”

Ares sucked on his teeth for a moment before letting loose a breath with a small laugh. “Well, they are not completely wrong. However, ‘fighter’ is such a broad term that I really do like a lot for it could mean anything, not just the warriors fighting in a grand battle led by a Lochagos. Anyone can be a warrior, be it the maid scrubbing dirty floors all day, or the beggar upon the street dreaming of a life where they are never hungry again. There is something you must remember about everyone you meet: they all have their own personal wars going on in their lives. Everyone needs a bit of courage for that, do they not? No matter if they know how to use a spear, a piece of thread, or just their words.” Ares leveled a look at Cadmus, future king of Thebes. “The quicker you realize this, the better you will move about this world with a deeper understanding of its inhabitants.”

Cadmus blinked before nodding his head again. “I understand, my Lord.” Though there was a pause, unsure as he looked. “I just…I just never looked at it like that. I, well…not many desire to speak of such things. We all like to think we have the courage and strength without a god’s help outside of well, physical fighting. So, to tell another of their prayers would make us look less in another’s eyes, especially in concerns of love and just going about our days that is deemed easier than a war. Which…from what you say, I suppose we look foolish to act as such in your eyes.”

“Not really.” Ares shrugged with one shoulder. “I am not one to think that mortals cannot do anything without divine help. I give space until they truly need me. Many can find the strength and courage on their own without me ever needing to lift a finger. In a way, it is better that way for true strength and true growth comes from themselves. No god can supply it. Not even I can.” Even then, if he did help, it would merely be a small push and nothing more. Mortals were hardier than they realized. It was the better joys of being a god. Of being a god like himself, namely.

“And…it doesn’t make you feel snubbed?”

Ares huffed out a laugh. _Snubbed_ —he never felt the need to worry about such a thing. “I love mortals. I am proud of how far they have come,” he stated. “I love what they can do with what they are given in life. One cannot coddle someone and expect them to grow, now can you? I know my place in the order of this world. The gods are confined to it as much as mortals are. As for me, well…wars are inevitable no matter what anyone thinks of it. But, if one day I am no longer needed, then that would be a good day and I will know that I have done my job well. Until then, I will lend my support to where it is needed.”

There was a silence that followed from Cadmus. Something came over the mortal as his eyes looked down in thought. Ares did not press, merely watched as Cadmus chewed on his bottom lip that was only let go once he spoke again. “May I confess something to you?”

“Feeling brave enough already?” A small tease with a raised brow from Ares that had Cadmus giving a hesitant chuckle in response to it.

Taking a deep breath, Cadmus started. “I never knew Harmonia was a goddess, nor your daughter at first. Or even immortal for that matter,” Cadmus said. “She hid it well—I do not think she wanted that to sway my feelings for her…at least that is what I thought at first. I simply believed she was the noble daughter of Lady Electra at first. When I found out that day at the spring, I admit that my feelings changed slightly. I thought that I would not be worthy enough to have Harmonia’s love. Afraid even of what I had gotten myself into that I surely would not be able to walk away whole and hale from. But through these first couple of months, I must confess that I am far happier with the truth than I would have been with the fiction, my Lord.”

 _And so, the boy grows into a man just like that._ There was much to be gleamed from what he was told, but Ares gave Cadmus the benefit of the doubt. If only for a moment. With an inquiring look, Ares asked: “Why, because she’s a goddess and you are now among gods, elevating your status to something more than just a prince of some far-away land?” There was no anger, not yet, but there was a hint that it could turn into that should this conversation end with the mortal saying the wrong thing.

It was a caution that Cadmus understood as he was quick to assuage such thoughts. “No! No…” he laughed, a nervous little tick of his that ended with a thick swallow. Then came the smile, sure of what he was going to say but unsure of the outcome of it. “It is because she comes from a good, loving family that I hope to one day honor among all else.”

Ares stared at him for a long moment, allowing the unease in the boy to stay within him. “Hm,” came a small hum as he laid back down on the wall. “Don’t kill any more of my children then and you will be well on your way.”

“I wanted to apologize, my Lord—”

Ares held up a hand for him to stop. “I do not wish to hear it. Continue your work.”

*******

“Is that the mortal?” Kydoimos asked the moment he arrived within Thrace as he watched said mortal do his chores for the day. He stood beside Ares while, a few paces away within the clearing, Cadmus struggled to make Ares’ armor shine when blood, gore, and the like were quite difficult to get rid of after it was left to dry for a day. Not by Ares’ design, he had merely forgotten about it, but even well after two years with the mortal in his service, he was starting to struggle himself with actually giving the boy something to do. Used to doing it all himself or allowing the nymphs to help him, adding another pair of hands proved difficult to fill. Then there was the trust that Ares did not hold for Cadmus in touching his things.

“He is,” Ares murmured, hand folded over his mouth as he leaned against one of the walls of his Thracian palace. The chilled autumn air breezed past them, raising goosebumps upon the arms of Cadmus, but Ares had not thought about taking this all inside or, at least, allow a fire to warm the air surrounding the area. Cadmus was dedicated to his job, not one to complain and Ares wondered if it was the love for Harmonia or his devotion to the gods in general that allowed him to stomach being in the service of a god who found breaks to be a waste of time. Still, sweat beaded up on Cadmus’ brow and looked not to be in any want to stop.

Kydoimos then leaned against the same wall with a quick sound of sucking his teeth before pensive silence overtook them both. The work of a mortal could be mesmerizing to a lot of them. The lesser war god had forgone his own armor and merely dressed in a simple himation wrapped around him that bunched up as he crossed his arms over his chest. Smooth shaved face of a deep tan, his curled, black hair hung loose before a calloused hand threaded fingers through and pull it back, away from his eyes. “How long for?” He asked, glancing at Ares then. “Have you decided yet?”

“Eight years,” Ares answered before he let his hand drop and give a rather noncommittal shrug with one arm. “Thought it was enough since if I did it for each year Ismenia had been alive, well…he would die before doing anything he was supposed to do. Then I would be blamed for his death of possible overwork and really, I am already tired of it and it is just a hypothetical situation.”

The other god gave a quiet laugh, breathless as it were. Voice was kept low as Cadmus was still nearby. If he could hear them or not was not a care despite their actions saying otherwise. “Eighty years does seem a _bit_ steep for a mortal since they only live for about fifty, sixty years at least and he’s already at half that.”

Ares huffed a chuckle. “Maybe you have a point.”

“ _Just_ maybe.” Kydoimos grinned before his attention returned to Cadmus who was dipping his brush into the bucket of water that had been given to him by one of the nymphs. It was tinted a faint pink color from the blood, and he would need to change it again soon enough. “Mh so, do you like him?”

Ares’ eyes squinted for a moment. “He seems the good sort. A normal mortal, really,” he said. “Nothing too exciting about him. Though he is a bit on the nervous side.”

“ _No_ ,” Kydoimos gasped, sarcasm evident. “The god of war making mortals nervous? Get out of here.” When Ares laughed, Kydoimos continued. “You are not exactly the most approachable of the gods, put that on top of what he had done to put him in this position… Yes, I do believe he would be quite nervous for some time now. Perhaps he even thinks that the tasks will only get tougher from here on out. Not always cleaning blood off godly armor and the like.” There was a pause, thoughtful as it were. “ _Are you_ going to do anything more with him?” Ares shrugged again making Kydoimos inquire further. “Do you like him for your daughter as well then?” He began again, turning towards the other war god. “I know she has not lessened her love for him—she will tell anyone who is willing to listen about it. It is almost… It is almost as if this whole arrangement would allow them to grow closer.”

Still, Ares said nothing, but he did avoid the other god’s narrowed eyes as he puzzled this whole thing out. “Was this your whole plan after all?” He then asked of Ares, quick to come to a head with these sorts of situations. “Because I do not see him being sent off to some distant land to pick you the best apple he can find just so you can throw it at his head and claim it is not juicy enough.”

At that, Ares barked out another laugh that had tears bead up in his eyes from the force of it. The sound even made Cadmus glance back at the two, only to turn away with wide eyes once he saw who else was there. Ares was one thing, but another war god? _Mortals and their nerves._ “Now I know what you think of the Olympians and their acclaimed tasks.”

“You say that as if you do not know who my mother is.” A sly look overcame Kydoimos’ features. “Though… You could perhaps tell him to go off somewhere if you do not wish to deal with him for _that_ long. I do have a couple ideas if you are ever in need.”

“Kyo, your ideas will get him killed and last time this mortal was threatened with that, Harmonia claimed she would go with him.” He said as if he were not the one who did the threatening. He sighed out even still. “No no, he is to remain in Hellas. And yes, I suppose… _in a way_ , this is to see if he would be an adequate husband for my daughter. A part of me certainly does see it as that since she often comes around and helps him with his tasks.”

“And Lord Father Ares looks the other way as he silently takes this mortal under his wing with the same amount of protection that any of his _real_ children would receive,” Kydoimos proclaimed before landing an arm atop Ares’ shoulder. “You might even think to yourself that they look nice together, and that is when it happens. The mortal ensnared you with his nervous charms all because your children have you wrapped around their pinkies.” An emphasized pinky thrust up into the air.

Ares grimaced. Through these years of service thus far, Cadmus had never sought to overly annoy him. In fact, problems were not an issue with the mortal. There was hardly a reason to be angry with him. Always eager to work, only spoke when spoken too, and kept to himself unless needed—to which he would jump right up to accomplish whatever Ares asked of him. The sort of personality that reminded Ares of his own demigods since the divine children he sired were more aptly called ‘nuisances’ by others due to the tricks they pulled on other gods and mortals for their own amusement. He loved them all the same, however the words of Kydoimos held a bit of truth to them.

“Either way, he will die soon,” Kydoimos stated. “You will just have to wait thirty, forty years maybe. Then he can be out of mind and your daughter will move on like every other god who followed a mortal into a bed as if they had never seen mortals before.”

“Perhaps,” Ares mused with a soft hum to his voice.

A pause—no, more like a freeze overcame Kydoimos and witnessing it had Ares frowning slightly before the lesser god began to speak again. Arm sliding off Ares’ shoulder. “Unless he is to be another god… An irritating prospect as mortals-turned-gods prove to be more of a pest than I would have ever thought possible. And, given what he is, he might take an aspect of war and none of us have the patience for that.”

“No,” Ares laughed, cutting off the amusing ramble of the other. Though he could see how that conclusion could be made. Psyche was not terrible, per se, but she did have moments that could only be the failings of her mortal upbringing. “He’s not that exceptional of a mortal to be awarded as such. It is merely what Harmonia said to me on that day. Where if he dies, she will go with him.”

Kydoimos leveled a look at Ares. “Why on earth—”

“I find it strange too, so I am trying to figure out a way to forgo such…drastic outcomes because I cannot stand to lose another child so close to the murder of another,” Ares explained. It was a hard position to be in, but his hands were tied. “Especially over some mortal. No matter if I grow to like this kid even more so by the end.”

“Yes, but Ares…she cannot die. She is a goddess.”

“There are other fates reserved for the divine when we cannot die, Kyo.”

Kydoimos sighed out and looked back at Cadmus, however amusement colored his next choice of words. “What a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into, my dear Lord.” And Ares could not help the wry smile that came upon him.

*******

“What does this city mean to you?” Ares asked, watching as a wooden front door for the house they stood in front of be placed in the structure with careful dedication that even Hephaestus would be proud of. Cadmus was beside him, managing the construction that he and the Spartoi oversaw. It had been five years already and the city was growing by the day. To say the least, Ares was impressed. Not many cities held such dedication to them during their first go-around. Most merely build a temple and a house for them before allowing others to join them with their own homes they build themselves.

Once the door was hinged in place, Cadmus answered smilingly. “A chance for others like me to find a home where they could not where they were born. A welcoming city, one where others are not shunned.” He was proud of his accomplishments so far and what they could mean for others. A notable pursuit in the end. “At least, those would be the foundations. There is not much I can do for it but hope for the best of my people once I am within the House of Lord Hades.”

Ares glanced at him, curious. Those within Hellas were noted as his people now which was a change the god had not noticed before. “Was your homelife in Phoenicia so terrible?”

“I do not wish to sound ungrateful,” Cadmus answered. “But being the third born son of a royal family, there is not much I can do but be bored and hope to marry well or wait for my first two brothers to die, and that is not something I wanted to do.” There was a pause, uncertain in his look as it was. “Also…I was unable to return to Phoenicia as I had no luck in finding my sister, Europa…which was more of the reason why I had to…well…”

“Carve your own path because home was barred to you.” However, the name Europa was not foreign to him. Another one of his father’s conquests, which was a good guess to any random woman that popped up in conversations at this rate. She was in Crete where Athena had saw to her placement as queen there. An ending not bad by other standards in comparison. But…perhaps that could be another story for another time, not while the man seemed to be past that little incident. If Cadmus found out, what if he went to her now, and finally sailed back home and saw no need to build a city? Not only that, but what of Harmonia?

Ares, instead, played ignorant and merely kept his remarks to himself on that particular subject matter. Maybe he can hint at it in passing when the mortal is well and good rooted to Thebes.

“Yes, my Lord,” Cadmus said with a nod. “I think I have been doing a decent job at it so far. Surprisingly, we are not behind schedule and more so ahead of it. Do you think I would be able to get Lord Zeus to bless the city? Ah, perhaps not. I am thinking far too ahead of myself, but I cannot bear the excitement of finally seeing it all finished. They had just started the gates down below, there will be seven of them to make sure it is well protected.”

Ares pressed his lips together into a thin line before letting it go with a grimace and a small roll of his red eyes the more Cadmus rambled on. “One thing at a time, boy,” he murmured. “There will be enough opportunities to petition other gods to come into your city in the future.”

Cadmus froze. “ _Oh_.” He was quick to look up at Ares from his plans that were upon rolled parchment. “I did not mean to insult; I just didn’t think—”

“If I was so easily insulted, you would know.”

“Will you bless—”

“Shut it.”

And to Cadmus’ favor, he did.

“But, if you must know,” Ares started to say as he began to walk up the dirt path that was slowly being turned into a cobblestoned road, but only half of it was completed so far. “My blessings allow a city to remain at peace for as long as I grant it. With a skilled military force to hold it over quite nicely just in case another city deems to test that blessing. The other gods are not the same and most blessings from them are worthless to the whole of a city. Hermes is about the only other god I can recommend due to his hand in trade and the like. Maybe even Apollo, but such is my opinion.”

Cadmus, hurrying behind to keep pace with Ares’ longer strides. Desperate he was as his anxious gestures could articulate as such. “I am ignorant, I realize this, and I only seek to apologize if only you will let me—”

Ares’ laugh cut Cadmus off. “I am merely giving you a hard time. You must loosen up a little. What is that building going to be?” He stopped in front of one of the larger construction projects, already half done, but with how many open areas there were within the space, it was hard to tell if it was to be a larger house, or a merchant’s shop.

“A tavern, my Lord,” Cadmus answered with a tinge of irritation in his voice that only made Ares’ grin grow wider upon his face. “It is right by the merchant square, which I believe would be ideal should they want a place nearby to discuss deals or rest from their day. At least, I think it is a good spot for it. I am merely going by what I have seen of different cities in my life.”

There was a pause for Ares to admire the building, but he was watching from the corner of his eyes the irritation and fear build up within the mortal beside him. One wrong move, in Cadmus’ mind, was all it took for Ares to say no to having a pleasant life after his service. However, Ares never thought it like that, even if he was not so forthright in giving Cadmus said information. He wanted his own fun, too. But the pause was long enough for Cadmus to get an irritated itch and speak again.

“My Lord, will you just let me apologize for all the harm I have caused to you?” Cadmus finally said with hands balling into fists at his side. “No matter what I do, I feel like it is never enough for you and I am trying—I really am, and I wish not to complain, but you have given me no clues as to how you feel. It is your right not to, of course, but I could serve you better if I had an idea. Any kind of idea, even if it is to explain myself.”

“And how would you do such a thing? This apology that you so wish to make,” Ares said, a drawl to his voice. “Your service is enough—besides, you have three more years. Do not count your blessings so soon, you have not been given mine for my daughter yet.”

“But…there is a chance and I wish not to ruin it.”

“There is always a chance for everything. Perhaps you have already ruined it during your first or second year. What then?”

Cadmus’ mouth opened and then snapped shut. Eyes flicking about, trying to think of what he could have possibly done to upset the war god. “I would sacrifice a calf—”

“Would you even know why, Cadmus?”

Again, the mortal was silent as Ares turned fully towards Cadmus with his hands resting behind his back. But there was something else there, building in the back of those dark eyes of his. An unsure, deep sadness that had years and years to fester, long before he was ever put on the futile mission to find his sister that often led to thoughts that it was given to him for the express purpose of getting rid of him. The third son, the useless extra mouth to feed that even a royal family did not wish to deal with, or perhaps it was something simpler than that: an unexplained hatred of a father to a son. It welled up inside of him, ready to burst free if only one more small thing were to land upon it in just the right way to allow it that freedom. If Ares wanted to guess, from what he had come to know about Cadmus through his time with him, this mortal was afraid of failure. And the quest he was put on forced that fear to the forefront of his mind.

A story of the failure of a son who wanted so much to impress a father who was not interested mired Cadmus’ thoughts and pushed down upon shoulders as if he were Atlas reborn… _my how stories of gods and mortals alike love to relate to one another._

“This city will be one of the greatest,” Ares started to say, making Cadmus look up at him with wet eyes full of unshed tears of frustration. “Perhaps better than your father’s because you _will_ take the wrong he has done, be it few or plenty, and make sure to never do the same as him. You have it as a guide that is easy to follow, thus when you become king, it will be easier for you to make sure those who live under you are well taken care of no matter the cost.” His hand came up, grasping Cadmus’ shoulder. “You have the drive to do so. That fear of yours is your strength. Take it, twist it, and master it. Courage will come in time.”

“Harmonia says the same,” Cadmus said as he wiped tears from his cheeks, taking a couple deep breaths to slow their coming. Shame was evident, but Ares dared not to make a comment on it even if it were to say that only the strong are able to show their tears. “Foolish of me to think doing all of this would be easy. The gods willed it, so why should it be hard? I was an idiot to think such.”

“You are only mortal,” Ares noted. “And that is not a bad thing.” His hand raised, wrapping around the back of Cadmus’ warm neck, gentle with a soft, reassuring pat. “Now come, show me the rest of your plans for your city. I need to see if they are well enough for my daughter to live in.”

Cadmus stared at him, wide eyes following Ares as the god continued to make his way up the street as if he were only a meandering looker-on. “Have I—have you given your approval—”

“Must I tell you the story of the man who looked a gift horse in the mouth?” Ares cautioned, but the humor in his eyes as he glanced back at him only made Cadmus’ smile return. Racing after the god to catch up, a renewed sense of excitement grew within him now.

*******

Ares kept a few paces back, watching as the young couple enthralled themselves with each other while they walked along the tinkling stream that gave the new, developing city of Thebes its water source. Coming from the sacred spring itself that once held his daughter’s own home, was not missed on the war god. Yet, although it filled him with a certain sadness for the death of his child, there was no reason to keep himself dwelling on what he could not change. Instead, his eyes kept to Harmonia and Cadmus, arm entwined with arm, as they walked with heads leaning close together so that they may whisper words for their ears only. At least with them, he could help, while Ismenia he could no longer.

“My, they are adorable together,” Aphrodite’s cooed voice was heard beside him, making him whip his head around to spot his consort walking with a wink in her pink eyes. Just as Harmonia and Cadmus walked on, Aphrodite mirrored their stance as she wrapped her arm around Ares’ and bade him to walk a bit slower so that they may talk as well. “Your Sons are positively in wonderment over them. It is as if they found a new toy and are now wishing to show it off. ‘Look, this is a new love, and it is shiny, is it not?’” Aphrodite laughed quietly. “Much like when you and I were just beginning. Do you remember?”

“How could I not?” Ares smiled then. His memory of the event was not one of pain. He had just returned from a rather successful campaign to see his two twin sons, Eros and Himeros, attending to their mother. Yet, at the time, Ares never thought he would be with Aphrodite for much longer after as much as he had wished against it. She had a streak where she would often get bored of the god she was with, either before or after the one child they would create together. As was her way to leave no matter what the other god had to say about it, Ares expected just that from her as well. Perhaps worse off due to how the other gods treated him. Surprises came in waves when Aphrodite’s interest never did seem to wane. “Our own Son set us up to be fully ensnared to each other.”

“Oh, do not sound so put out by it. You got a new spear out of the whole ordeal.” she teased him. It was as if she had put Eros up to it as well. Her smile as Ares was handed the heavy spear that strained against his muscles to keep it aloft from the ground, he could have sworn there were secrets she would never tell him upon parted lips. Even now, he still wondered. Not that it would change a thing about the day, nor of their relationship, the secret was yet another excitement to the beautiful goddess.

Still, he hummed to her tease, only to throw it back at her with a smirk upon his own lips. “Trust me, my love, I would never dare. That spear is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. I fear the day my Son would demand it back and my heart would break in so many pieces that it would be difficult to put back together.”

“You rude, insufferable god,” she scoffed. “To covet a spear and not your own lover, or children. I shall speak to them— _all seven of them_ —and see how they like to be second best to a weapon of all things. Might even go to your other children if you do not watch yourself.”

“It would be the second coming of the Titanomachy…the Aresomachy.”

Aphrodite’s laugh grew, like music in the wind. Ares smiled, trying not to laugh, but the more the goddess did so to the point where she lost her breath for a moment, a laugh burst forth from the war god. It finally got the attention of the two lovers ahead of them, but only with smiles and amused glances at each other before they were back to their own secretive whispers. Aphrodite’s other hand gripped Ares’ bicep as she began to calm down her laughter to a few scant, breathless giggles.

“I feel as if you would have too much fun with that,” Aphrodite stated, and she was right. If they truly wished to punish him, they would sit him down in a room so they could all lay out their feelings to him with _words_ and _monologues_. Though, one could only dream, perhaps. The goddess then cleared her throat, subtly as she loved to be at times (as if she were never the terrifying goddess he loved), her attention returned to that of their daughter. “Tell me then, it has been seven years and you have yet to explain to me your plan on what to do with this boy once these eight years are up. You have kept it on a string, dangling in front of me, pulling it away before I can ever grasp it. His city is almost finished, people are coming to it for the desire to live, and even one of his Spartoi is having thoughts of marriage. Of course, he dares not do so before their king marries, but he and his lady love have been exchanging many a secret note to each other day after day. _Adorable_ , I must say.”

Ares blinked once, information he was not sure was important pelted him and he had a difficult time keeping up. Aphrodite looked like she wanted to continue as well when her eyes probed him for unspoken answers that she so much desired. The war god then gave a huffed chuckled, one corner of his lips quirking up. “Is this gossip meant to be an attempt to force me to make up my mind faster? Am I supposed to feel bad for making a man wait to get married?”

“You should be. To spurn love—I thought I taught you better than that,” Aphrodite chided. “Well, is it working, or must I continue until you go deaf?”

“Which Spartoi is it?”

A beautiful frown marred her features, and it made a laugh bubble up to Ares’ lips that he swallowed down to keep the charade up. “Echion.”

“He can wait.”

“ _Ares!_ ”

It was then that the laugh came forth once more, no longer able to keep it in check, especially with how scandalized Aphrodite looked now. Echion was, perhaps, one of the more wiser of the Spartoi and one who saw right through to the god Ares was without ever being told. If anything, the man would probably think it appropriate to wait, while Aphrodite always did like to rush headlong into things. One of the more charming aspects of her, even when Ares often used it to tease her with.

“Either way,” she announced to move on this conversation of theirs. “I wish to know what your plans are regardless. Do you really wish to keep me in such suspense? Which is quite rude I might add.”

“Apparently I am a very rude and insufferable god, so I thought I should stick to my own personal truth that has been ascribed to me.”

“You outright tease, using my words against me.”

“Aphrodite, I would think it quite obvious, no?” He reached out his free arm and gestured to the young couple ahead of them. “Here I am, overseeing their little outdoor walk at the behest of Cadmus himself. How often do I do that for anyone? Never.”

“Many of your children tend not to get into relationships and if they were, much like your demigods, the marriages are arranged,” Aphrodite said, voice a deadpan as it were obvious to state. “This is new territory for you, I thought you were merely watching them to make sure his hands do not travel lower than her shoulders. Which, if that is the case, his hands are upon her waist.”

“ _Ha_ , no.” But he did eye the hand once it was pointed out to him. Bending to scoop up a small rock, Aphrodite was quick to slap it away before he had the chance to flick it at the offending appendage. He snickered, “Though I have thought to be the overbearing father just once to see how they would react.”

“Harmonia would scream for me to come collect you, I am sure. And poor Cadmus’ heart would stop beating.” She leveled a gaze at him, making sure he did not reach for yet another pebble.

“Like I said, it was not my idea. He had the thought that I might think he was going to harm another one of my daughters by sneaking off with her—his words, not mine. So, here I am, with nothing else to do but watch while a mortal makes lovestruck smiles at my Daughter and she giggles as if it were the very height of romance.”

Aphrodite’s smile was that of pure amusement as her eyes spoke of pity turned towards Ares. “Oh, my love. I knew you were never one for courting, but Ares, darling—”

Shock. Outrage, perhaps? Insulted, surely. Ares stopped then to turn towards her, hands gesturing towards himself in emphasis for his words, “What, you did not like my courting of you before that whole spear debacle our Son concocted?”

“ _Your_ courting? I would hardly call it as such. If anything, _I_ courted _you_ ,” Aphrodite said, a laugh in her words. “From what I remember, you were in the gardens, angry about what your father had said to you in front of everyone during the conclave. But the moment I came to join you, you clammed up.” Her hand raised, threading her fingers through his silver hair to comb it back. “I can tell that you were so nervous around me for you had the silliest lovestruck smile upon your face as well. But I knew you were something special when you did not try to impress me, but instead, asked after me as if you were never angry to begin with.”

She remembered that much, but he remembered that day to be one embarrassment after another. Her appearance with him alone made it all the more worse for he had always found an attraction to the goddess (much like every other god who looked at her) and he ended their first conversation by replaying all that he had said wrong in his mind thinking that that was the only chance he would get with her. “It was a grimace,” Ares said before he continued to walk. When he spoke of courting, it was not that day he had in mind, but what happened during the night after when he had a clearer head.

Aphrodite took his arm again and held it close. “Of course, darling. A grimace is what made me go to your quarters that night and a grimace is what sired Eros and Himeros. The power of your grimace is unmatched.”

Never to remain in a sour mood around her, Ares gave a soft grin in response. They spoke at length that night and only made love on his bed of furs, slow and fervent, while Helios’ flaming chariot started its ascent. However, the physicality was not the focus that often-had Ares smiling in remembrance. It was all that had been said, how it was said, and that it felt as if it was not their very first full conversation with each other, but their hundredth. Was that what Harmonia and Cadmus felt now? “Told you so and yet you think me joking.”

“ _Pish-posh._ Now we will be talking in circles and yet you still have not sated my curiosity,” Aphrodite said. “Am I free to believe that you will allow Harmonia to be with her mortal lover once all of this over?”

Ares took a deep breath and sighed it out with his answer. “I suppose you may believe that if I wish to keep you all happy.”

Aphrodite smiled, laying her head on his arm. “You speak as if you will not be. You smile whenever she smiles. However, I had no doubt that you would make the right decision. Even if it takes a couple pushes.”

His arm left her grasp to wrap it around the goddess’ shoulders, pulling her close so as to press a kiss to the side of her head that left her chuckling. Her arms, in response, wound themselves around his waist, their stride never faltering, and mirrored the young lovers ahead of them just so. Love was love was love…

*******

“Sir, my Lord—welcome,” Cadmus said with a bow of his head, waiting outside of the walls of his now completed city as a rather wide grin brightened his features. The unexpectedness of Cadmus’ appearance as Ares just arrived had the god narrowing his eyes at the mortal who, from the looks of it, had been waiting for him. For how long, he could not say, but seeing as it is deep into the afternoon, Ares had a hunch it had been for a while.

The completed city sounded quite alive from behind the walls. Thriving as it were with the rising voices of crowds going about their day. Some were louder than the rest, shouting about their wares or the newly opened inn that had plenty enough vacancy for those weary, yet curious travelers to rest their feet inside. Ares had thought he would catch Cadmus hard at work to keep the city running, or at the very least, celebrating its successful completion upon a most auspicious day—the very day he was no longer to be under the service of the god of war, and perhaps the day he was to be given the hand of said god’s daughter. There was plenty to choose from, and yet the mortal stood outside of his creation.

“Cadmus,” Ares tested with a quirk of his brow as he stepped a bit closer, away from the imprint his feet made upon the ground due to his fall from Olympus. “I have come to tell you that your service to me is up—”

“May I, erm, show you something before you do?” The mortal said, interrupting Ares that made the god frown for just a moment. “Please. It is important.” Still, the grin never left Cadmus’ features and that should have been a signal for Ares to not be too quick in judgement on it being a bad _something_. Should have but was not.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” Thus, caution made its way into his mind, but Cadmus shook his head excitedly so.

“Not at all. Come, please, my Lord.” A gesture for Ares to follow and the god did so with a quirk of his brow. It was not Cadmus’ usual nervousness either, but it was more akin to whenever he began thinking about marrying Harmonia. The thrilled bounce to his step that came over him every time he walked was what Ares witnessed before him now.

Cadmus made his way through the city walls and Ares followed suit with ease. Quick was his pace, not out of immediate hurry, but more of that excitement that forced him to go faster without him really taking note of it himself. However, through this little tour of the city, Ares was able to be granted a better sight with actual inhabitants within who went about their business as if they had always lived here. Livestock were meandering around, wives were doing their daily businesses right alongside their husbands, while traders and merchants both found their wares to be bartered over in the agora with plenty of customers to be had equally. To them all, Ares was just another face in the crowd. Some looked at him twice with doubt in their eyes, but nothing more than that.

Thebes was built like any other kingdom in Hellas, undoubtedly notes were taken upon Cadmus’ travels through in search of his sister. The houses were to one side (bigger and wider than everywhere else in the city that stretched on for miles) while the agora with a full theater was placed upon the other side, allowing that separation most would be quite glad about despite the walk they may have to take. Yet up ahead where Cadmus was leading him, the acropolis stood where larger palaces for Cadmus and his Spartoi were set, and a second wall surrounded it. Among them, from what Ares could see once they passed the wall, were a set of gilded temples that he could note easily which went to which god.

It was then that Ares had a feeling Cadmus was merely taking him to his new palace. As king, he would have the grandest one and one that would need to be perfect for the goddess he was to take as wife, but once they got to the top of the small hill, the mortal did not stop at the palace in question. Ares eyed it before giving his attention back to where Cadmus turned, and a set of stairs greeted him. At the top, his daughter Harmonia smiled down at him as she stood beside the entrance to another temple. Small compared to the palace, but bigger than any house lower on the hill.

Cadmus finally stopped then, gesturing for Ares to take the lead up the stairs and the god did so with a better idea as to what these two were up to. Harmonia greeted him with a small bow of her head before he entered through the temple’s door and was given an eyeful of beauty. A mural of brightly painted stones of blue and green overtook the main wall in the back of the temple where it would be first thing one would see upon entering. The mural depicted Ismenia, the Drakon of the sacred spring, and Ares swallowed hard at the sight of it. Eyes already started to sting, but he held it down as Cadmus and Harmonia both stood on either side of him. His daughter, taking his hand in hers, squeezed it tight.

“I found a better way to tell you how very sorry I am for what I have done,” Cadmus said quietly, careful not to disturb the sanctimonious atmosphere that temples often created all on their own. “It is a temple to you, of course, but I did not want to leave out your daughter that allowed the foundation of this soon-to-be great city. Without her…without you, it would not be what it is. Thought it only right.”

It was hard to look away from the mural, but Ares did to take in the rest of the temple where statues framed the two side walls. His own likeness was at the front, but Aphrodite, Harmonia, and even Eros shared their spaces with altars for libations and the like to be given to each god respectfully. But the centerpiece of the whole construction was the mural that kept drawing Ares’ eyes back to it no matter where he looked off to.

“Cadmus show him with the sun—” Harmonia whispered and the mortal left Ares’ side for just a moment as he climbed up a ladder on one of the walls with a stick in hand. Ares moved closer, spying that Cadmus pushed open a small wooden door on the stone ceiling and, once it was out of the way, the bright rays of the sun hit against the mural and made it sparkle further as if the very drakon were alive upon the wall. Ares smiled then, soft as it were, seeing the familiarity and knowing that Ismenia would have been delighted to see herself depicted as such.

“Well,” Ares choked out with a laugh to cover the sob that wished to come out. “You have certainly outdone yourself with this one, Cadmus. I dare not dismiss this apology of yours, as beautiful as it is.”

“I thought she deserved more than just my service for her life,” Cadmus said with a proud smile, no longer were the nerves in him. With shoulders back, form straight, he was the very picture of a king. Ares was proud to finally witness it—this mortal had no need of him any longer. “Everyone in this city will know what a fearsome drakon she had been.”

“And so, she was,” the war god said under his breath, eyes returning for the fourth time to the mural. Dare he stay a little longer—the residents here would not mind a god within his own temple, surely. He smiled at the thought before he became entranced, he gave his attention to the lovers who watched him in turn. Beckoning for them to come closer, he spoke, “I do not say this lightly, but Cadmus, as a father myself, you would make yours rather proud. Even then, I believe you would make for an even finer husband for my Daughter, Harmonia. You may have her if she will have you in turn.”

Cadmus’ smile grew further, as if that were even possible at this moment, with his cheeks stretching, and his eyes crinkling until he looked like he was about ready to burst. “It will be my honor, Lord Ares. And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You won’t regret this; I will treat her like the goddess she is—”

Ares held up a hand, forcing Cadmus to snap his mouth closed before he rambled for far too long. “I understand. No need to get into details that only you and she should be privy to.”

Harmonia laughed joyously at that before she threw her arms around her father’s neck, peppering his cheek with sweet kisses as her own thanks. It was for but a moment before he pushed her gently away, towards her now future husband where she will be here on out. Even her own smile mirrored Cadmus’ as new kinds of excitement bubbled up within the pair. It seemed to grow the more they were nearby each other, which was amusing to the war god to witness.

“Your further thanks enough are ensuring a long future for Thebes, Cadmus,” Ares then said after a moment’s thought. “These people need an able king and what better than to give them a goddess for a queen? It is the best start a city could ever hope for. So, don’t make a mess of it if I were you.”

“So, no pressure from the god of war, huh?” Cadmus said with a laugh.

“None at all.” Ares grinned as he turned back to the mural. He knew Thebes would do well, to be a very sight to behold in Hellas, without a doubt in his mind—with a king like Cadmus, he was sure it could be more than possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these stories are just getting longer and longer... but first requested one done! to the anon who did request this, thank you so much and also i hope it is what you wanted/enjoyed it. i kept it just to the beginning that had more Ares in it because the wedding, kingship, traveling time, SNAKES, and then immortality seems like it should be its own thing lmao
> 
> also, my thoughts on Cadmus' service and why i wrote it this way if anyone wants to know: when a mortal goes under the service for a god, their tasks are told in detail i.e. Psyche and somewhat Herakles. however for Cadmus it was just 'he was in service for 8 years' and, seeing as how Ares is as a god and he's very much a 'live and let live' kinda guy when it comes to one time happenings, i don't think the service went past anything other than chore-like things for Cadmus to do (hence the comment made by Kydoimos lol). 
> 
> i kept wanting Dionysus to be in this too and i jus *head in hands* keep forgetting he's not born yet...being the great grandson of Ares that he is fhkjsdhgkjsg 
> 
> let us not forget that Harmonia is also the goddess of marital harmony and was born out of an affair. ares' kids' births are so ironic i Love
> 
> other than that!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!!


	7. Another Clause in the Contract.

Zagreus stood within Charon’s shop towards the far-right side of the Temple of Styx, hand on his hip while his other rubbed his chin in thought. He looked at what was offered to him by the boatman and debated how he was going to spend his 500 coins. There was also a second option: continue going through the other doors to see if he could find more money, but that decision was negated with a shake of his head. He did not need much more than what he already had. The gods had been generous this time around, especially Dionysus and Poseidon who stacked the blessings up even further. However, it was the prices of said offers from Charon that made his time figuring out what he could get before he fought his Father a lot harder than he appreciated. Such was the way, being far too steep and yet far too generous at the same time. Charon merely hovered nearby, watching him silently.

In the end, Zagreus bought out all the pomegranates that Charon had for sale and handed the payment over, knocking him down a couple hundred coins. “Next time I’m going to get the diamond,” Zagreus promised, and Charon merely groaned in response. Now with poms in hand, he bit into one whole as he started out of the little open-air room and to where Cerberus sat patiently. The stinking satyr sack under his arm, the prize for a good boy who could do no wrong. With one hand he tossed it into the air, quick to step back as one of Cerberus’ heads caught the sack with its teeth and then he galloped off into some random room to have his fill with the treat. Zagreus had no idea why it was so good when it smelt so bad, but that was information that he would rather not find out.

Finishing up the pomegranates, feeling the power surge through him, he sucked the crisp, red juices from his fingers as he made his way towards the large ornate doors at the end of the temple. With two hands now, he pushed against them both, opening them wide and feeling the blast of cold air hit against his face. Were he anyone else, he might not have liked the chill that nipped at his nose and reddened cheeks. But coming from the Underworld where the air felt so stagnant in comparison, it was like walking into heaven. Dead compared to the life that bloomed and flourished on the surface, the difference was always so staggering. Zagreus smiled just the same as if it were his first time. Heart beating in excitement because he knew that he would win a clear and easy victory over his Father once more and explore what he could not last time before his heart gave out.

Flame-ridden feet melted away snow as he stepped out of the temple and made his way up the small hill to where his Father always stood, looking out towards the horizon past the final gate that led into Greece. What would Hades say this time? Complain about the fish again, or perhaps something that Zeus had done in the past that he never quite got over? Anything was game for Zagreus had learned so much about his Father and his extended family during these moments, he could hardly guess what would come out of Hades’ mouth next. Zagreus picked up his feet, running now with his spear flashing in his hand. Once more, with feeling, it was time to kill his Father for the hundredth or so time (truly he had lost count once he began doing this for actual work, but it had to have been a large number by his recollection—it certainly felt like he had been doing this for months now).

Yet the smile began to drop, and his feet began to slow until he stopped in front of, not only his Father, but another who stood in a full plate of shining white and gold armor. A crimson cloak upon his shoulders, tattered on the ends as if leaving trails of blood in its wake. Cool, brown skin with a thin white stripe over piercing red eyes, and on top of it, silver, curled hair, and laurel leaves tucked at the sides. An impish quality was given to the kind of grin this god gave to Zagreus once their eyes locked together. Ares. The Olympian God of War whose blessings helped him escape many times in the past. There was no need to ask, nor to be told. The very power the god held, how he stood with his sword dripping with the same curling crimson as his cloak onto the white snow, defiling it in the act. He commanded the area with squared shoulders and the presence of a warlord despite being right next to Hades, the Lord of the Dead.

Two things occurred to Zagreus then. Height of the gods varied a lot, and it always stood out to him, even during the feast he found it a curiosity as his family stood around talking and laughing with one another. Hades was tall, imposing, but the top of Ares’ head only hit at his shoulder. Taller than Thanatos, but shorter than the very Lord of the Dead. Would he be that tall as well seeing as how Ares was the son of Zeus and Zagreus was the son of Hades? In a small part of his mind, he hoped so. The other thought was that, throughout his run in the Underworld to the Temple of Styx, he wondered in passing why he had not been given a boon from Ares. Or even the choice of it. Of course, it was not uncommon to not hear from a particular god every now and again, but Ares always seemed to be the constant. Suppose now he knew why. Even if he was unsure what Ares being here, in the flesh, actually meant for him. Zagreus gave a small, nervous laugh in response to those thoughts before he looked at his Father, who stared back at him with the same impassive boredom under the weight of his heavy, dark brow.

At least it did not look as if Zagreus were in any trouble for something he might or might not have done… The good feelings were still left over from the Olympians now being privy to their doings in the Underworld. Well…privy to _some_ of it. Like his Mother had said, the rest is unnecessary, now it is time to move on into the future together.

“Please don’t tell me I’m going to have to fight the both of you,” Zagreus finally blurted out much to the growing amusement on Ares’ face. “I know you’re trying to see to the security of this place however this seems a tad…”

“Unfair?” Hades asked, finishing Zagreus’ trail of thought easily. His hands dropped from behind his back—he was not in his typical battle garb, but just the exomis he wore around the House. If Zagreus had to guess, it might not be Hades who would also partake in this fight. A situation that Zagreus was unsure if he liked better or not. “Ares is not of the Underworld yes, but he is close enough for this new condition that I have thought of.”

“So, when were you going to tell me all this then?” Zagreus asked. “At least it would’ve given me better time to prepare.”

“No, I think right now is best,” Hades then answered with a nod of his great head. “Surprises were abundant in the beginning—I feel that you have gotten far too relaxed. It has been just about three hundred times now, you dealt with the other measures I put into place efficiently enough. Frustrating as it was, I decided that you needed something more. And that more is my Nephew, Ares.” His hand fanned out to the side, gesturing to the war god who, in turn, narrowed his eyes as if he were the predator in this situation. Time to enter the lions’ den now…

“Not my first choice,” Hades continued. “However, ideas are lacking in the Underworld at the moment and there were hardly any decent responses from punished shades. The answers were atrocious at best, so as I watched the wheel of Ixion turn, I thought of Ares as more than suitable to take my place—he loves to fight, and you need someone to forbid you from leaving when I am not able. Also, your Mother thought it was a good idea. To bond with the rest of your family, or so she said.”

“What if I don’t agree, though?” Zagreus challenged and the first noise to come from Ares was a laugh, making the younger god frown in response. “At least with the additional measures in place, I could sign off on them when I wanted!”

“Sometimes _work_ likes to throw in a little surprise every now and again,” Ares commented. “Keeps things exciting, does it not? I have always wondered how you fought, regardless. It is not something I have seen, but I have felt it time and time again. Call me curious and you are being the most gracious kin of sating said curiosity.”

“And I can’t even count on you to take it easy, huh?” Zagreus asked.

“I respect you far too much to do that.”

“Wish you’d respect me less then,” Zagreus mumbled as his spear returned to hand.

“All settled?” Hades asked, the question rhetorical. “Then I will see you back at the House, Zagreus.” And with that, Hades vanished, leaving him alone with Ares to which he pointedly ignored the amused glint that now flashed within the war god’s piercing red eyes.

Ares then twisted his sword as he bent low. “Come, show me what you can do,” the god whispered, smile gleaming with a certain giddiness that Zagreus knew was a warning for his impending doom before he burst forth, towards Zagreus.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT SHIT!_ Zagreus had his spear ready in hand and he dashed aside in a stumble right before Ares could strike just a hairsbreadth away, which made the god of war laugh. _Laugh!_ All Zagreus could do to get his bearings straight for this fight was to run, dodge, and, most of all, _run_ with Ares hot on his tail. Zagreus was woefully unprepared. He chose what boon he needed from what he knew about how his Father fought. Hades walked, Ares sprinted and lunged. Hades disappeared; Ares was so fast that it felt like the god disappeared for seconds at a time before eyes could even register where the god would come from. Only upon catching sight of Ares did it feel like it was too late, but Zagreus was able to block each blow with his spear, or with his own body that dripped red blood onto the snow to be gathered by Ares’ cloak. Somehow, he had been able to escape the clutches of death, but he knew his luck would run out, and it would be soon.

“My sister has blessed you, has she not?” Ares remarked, letting his sword disappear from his grip to allow a spear to form in its place. Long, sharp, nothing too flashy like his own or his Father’s, but it was enough to trip Zagreus up into making him stumble to a rather ungraceful stop. “Or was it my Father this time?” Ares took a swing, Zagreus jumped out of the way, eyes wide as he followed Ares’ weapon. It was as if he was sparring with fifty Achilles’ at once. Perhaps even more at this point. At least there was predictability in Achilles’ movements. With Ares, Zagreus could hardly gauge the pattern (if there was even one to begin with).

Ares had an arsenal upon him, and he switched weapons regularly to suit his needs in one split second over the next. That was the only thing Zagreus could tell as he fumbled through this fight while the war god danced, feet light and swift, balancing on toes to quickly strike, dodge, or parry whatever came at him. Yet, there seemed to be no need for Ares to dodge or run. He kept to the offensive in a relentless fashion, frustrating Zagreus to the point of gnashing his teeth in anger as he tried desperately to change the roles, so that he could finally put Ares onto the defensive that felt impossible to do at this point.

He felt the call of Dionysus flow through him. If there was only one god’s help that could possibly slow Ares down, it would have to be the festive high of Dionysus himself. “Dionysus, please!” Zagreus yelled up at the sky, filling his very being with the drunken revelry his cousin could provide.

“I hear ya, Zag man. One drunk war god coming right up—” Purple fog began to explode upon the surrounding snow-covered ground, laying thick across the expanse. For a moment nothing could be seen through the haze and Zagreus finally had the chance to stop, with his heart beating loudly in his ears. However, the rest he thought he would get in this moment was not as relaxing as he wanted. His head turned fast, trying to spot Ares. Even when the explosions stopped, movement was sparse. “This was a mistake,” Zagreus murmured to himself, gripping and regripping his spear. “Huge mistake.”

“Your fear, a beacon,” Ares’ voice sounded as if carved deep inside Zagreus’ head. “Your rage, my guide.” Zagreus turned around; mismatched eyes squinted against the purple fog that was slowly dissipating. “You can do better than this, my kin.” Still, no sign of the war god and it was not until the fog finally left the field did Zagreus began to think that Ares might have just left. Was that possible?

“Never drop your guard,” Ares said off to the side, dashing forward and making Zagreus jump back right before the war god’s spear would have pierced through his ribcage and ended this whirlwind of a fight. Ares’ eyes were wild, a maniacal glee in his smile, and Zagreus had to put as much distance as he could between them.

“ _Blood and darkness_ , I hate this,” Zagreus repeated as if his own prayer, wishing that he had prepared better, that he had not taken his Father’s fights for granted as an easy way to get past into Greece. He knew that dying was just yet another chance, and he knew that should he fight Ares a second time, he would be better prepared. But now? All he could do was run. Every boon he had was not good enough, as much as he hated to admit it and dared not say so out loud for the gods to hear, but Ares was not slowed. It even seemed that the drunken state put upon Ares for a minute fueled the frenzy further.

Perhaps, instead of running, he could face the god head on and see if that would work better in his favor. Thus, Zagreus skidded to a halt and held out his spear, and immediately regretted that. Quick as he was, Ares’ ability to switch between weapons to suit whatever he wanted to throw at Zagreus, was a real pain to deal with. It was unpredictable and all Zagreus did was block. If he tried to parry a sword, he would be brought in close range to be gutted by a knife. If he tried to dodge, the knife would be turned into a spear in a flash to strike at him from a distance. Should Zagreus even attempt at hitting the god, Ares’ weapon turned into a round, brazen shield that knocked back the feeble strike.

It was frustrating. Zagreus gnashed his teeth as sweat dripped off his brow—he tried everything he had in him, but nothing worked! He yelled out and decided that enough was enough. He ran at Ares and hated that the god found too much pleasure in that choice of his. There was no time to think on just how wide Ares’ smile grew now. He wanted to try something Achilles had shown him once. It was a lunge with a spear in the air, two-handed which put all his strength into the final thrust. When one needed the high ground, but there was no high ground to be given, one had to make it for themselves. So, he lunged and leapt. Ares stepped back and Zagreus felt like he had him now. But the war god almost rivaled Hermes’ swiftness. Ares’ sword switched for a sarissa, to which he twisted and then jabbed it up, digging the tip far into Zagreus’ chest and it did not stop until he was only half-way down the pole. Crimson blood coated the shining silver and pain erupted forth like a hot blaze.

“A valiant effort, my kin,” Ares commended in a quiet voice. Zagreus gritted his teeth, one hand grasping onto the sarissa as his feet tried to find purchase on a ground not given to him. Ares had him still poised in the air. “But disappointing, nonetheless.” The god then lifted the butt of the sarissa so that he could throw Zagreus down onto the ground, flat upon his back. Air rushed out of Zagreus in a strained gasp. Ripping forth the tip of the sarissa from the younger god’s body, it flashed into a sword that Ares then plunged the blade into him a second time, but this was more of a final act that made the world Zagreus knew blink out into total darkness.

Well, at least the pain disappeared as he floated through the murky depths of Styx. Wounds healing in his semiconscious body’s death. It always took the longest to travel from the surface to the House of Hades, but after a couple minutes of feeling shades pass with him and hands grab at his legs, Zagreus managed to claw himself out of the depths. Heaving himself upon the marble steps, anger was the only thing he felt now. The waters of Styx stained the white below him, dripping forth from body and hair both as they rejoined the crimson liquid that he had left for the hundredth time.

“Welcome back!” Hypnos’ voice sounded with an echo through the hall. “Seems you got hit by redacted again—wait, no. That’s not right.”

“Can it, Hypnos.”

“By Ares. Huh, look at that,” Hypnos continued with a small laugh. “Have you tried not making him angry? It would help you a lot in not getting killed. Or just not speaking to him at all. That’s what I do.”

Zagreus got up close, finger pointing at Hypnos’ face who, with half-lidded eyes and a sleepy smile, was rather unphased by. “ _Good. Idea_ ,” Zagreus hissed out before walking away to where his Father had the audacity to look down at him in amusement from behind his desk.

“And how went the fight?” Hades asked, smirking as he did so.

“Father, why!?” Zagreus exclaimed. “I thought we had an agreement that if I got past you, I’d be free to explore the surface until I am pulled back here. Now you have Ares killing me, who is impossible to beat, mind you.”

“I take it that you do not like fighting him then?” It was almost as if his Father was expecting this reaction. So, was it a punishment of some sorts? “But that does not mean I will be dismissing this arrangement. It only means that you must get better, yes?”

Zagreus opened his mouth to retort but then snapped it shut, narrowing his eyes up at Hades. No, not punishment. That did not sound right with what his Father said. It was something more. “Oh…” Zagreus said, mouth a perfect ‘O’. “Oh…it’s training.”

“More or less, yes,” Hades answered as he set his quill pen down. “What I have observed is that you have gotten far too comfortable. Like I said, you need to be challenged or else you slack off. And yes, you have begun to slack off.”

“What, that’s not true!”

“You speak to more shades in Elysium than you fight now.”

“Just…friends.”

Hades narrowed his eyes in question at Zagreus, making the young god avert his own gaze because his Father did have a point. “Like I said, you need another challenge and one that you cannot easily overcome after a couple tries. There is always something more to learn and while you are good, you are not the best. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Zagreus sighed. “So, what if I defeat Ares then? Are you going to call another one of our family down to kill me?”

“I chose Ares because of his unpredictability—something I am sure you have noticed in your fight. One fight is not like the other. Should you defeat him once, there is more of him you have not defeated. Now, should you get to the point where you are comfortable, then I will tell my Nephew that he need not hold back any longer.”

He could understand everything but the last part. “Not hold back? He was holding back!?” Zagreus remarked. He was beginning to feel the pressure, much like when he first started with his escape attempts. “Great. Well, that’s fine. Just…fine.” He then glanced at his Mother, who stood off to the side of the desk, one hand within the red fur of Cerberus’ coat. “Can’t believe you signed off on this, Mother.”

Persephone smiled calmly, pleasant as always. She calmed the fire that raged within Zagreus, making him relax somewhat more. “I know you can do it, my son. Ares has his weaknesses; I am sure you can find them all well enough to get past him much like you have done with your Father. You are a god as well, mind you. It is not impossible.”

“Do you know any of his weaknesses?” Zagreus tried, only making his Mother laugh in response. “I mean you can tell me; I won’t tell him that you did.”

“I do not, I’m sorry,” she said, amused. “Perhaps ask Aphrodite about him, she might have better insight into the workings of Ares than we all do.”

“Wait, is _he_ the husband she told me about then?”

Persephone’s eyebrows rose a bit. “I wouldn’t know. I mean, they are rather close, but marriage seems so limiting to Aphrodite. Hades, do you know anything about that?”

“Why would I inquire on what happens on that damnable mount?” The older god grumbled from his seat, already back to focusing on his stack of paperwork.

“Well, might you ask her anyway,” Persephone concluded with a nod of her head. “And then you can move on from there. Or, if you wish for more discretion, ask Artemis. Her and Ares are the same in a way, where they keep to their own business.”

“Right, okay, I’ll do that then.”

“And don’t make him mad!” Hypnos chimed in.

“ _Thank_ you, Hypnos,” Zagreus huffed out before turning away to head back through his room, out into the courtyard where he gathered up his sword, Aphrodite’s keepsake, and Antos for good measure before he dropped back into Tartarus to start everything all over again. This time with a better head on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the working title was: zagreus and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
> 
> think i thought too much on a potential hypothetical fight against ares (fueled even more by the epilogue of the game that opened a lot more ideas) that i wanted to write it and based on how i play the game, i think demeter and artemis boons would be the best to have to beat him. one slows him down, the other fires arrows that never misses on top of your own attacks depending on your build, so just spam that and he's donion rings 🤔 basically to me, it'd have the vibes of like fighting sephiroth in kh2 or the nameless king in dark souls 3 or the final pull up challenge in ffvii remake ghjsgjhk just difficult and so frustrating, it'd be fun imo anyway supergiant add a dlc to fight ares/the other gods lmao. 
> 
> archangel by two steps from hell on repeat to help with the fast pace for the fight too tho 💪😤


End file.
